


Saturday Night Special

by seadreams



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seadreams/pseuds/seadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanting to repair the broken ties he has with Bruce and the rest of the Bats, Jason finds himself looking after Tim. He’s eager to convince Tim to forgive him and be the big brother he never had the chance to be. However, Tim wants something entirely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to a ton of Marina while I was reading Jason’s comics so I kind of set _Froot_ as the soundtrack to Jason’s life in my mind. It bled over into my writing too, so here’s the result.
> 
> Jason and Tim’s relationship in this is more in line with what they've got going on now in the New 52, but their history still roughly coincides with Pre-52 canon.

Jason stumbles, rolling his ankle as he lands on an apartment rooftop. There’s pressure building at his temples, and he just knows it’s going to turn into a full-blown migraine. He takes a moment he can barely spare and leans against a water tower, shutting his eyes, trying to steady himself. There are buildings collapsing across Gotham, civilians are screaming and scrambling everywhere, Batman is shouting orders through the comm link into his ears, and Jason’s had just about ten minutes of sleep.

Brilliant. This is exactly how he wanted to spend his holiday break.

A roar sounds somewhere in the distance; Jason turns his attention towards the noise. Killer Croc and Batman appear; Jason casually watches them fly in an arc through the air, Batman grappling at another building before Killer Croc catches him, sending them crashing through an office window.

A few moments later, the building trembles and falls, collapsing into itself, the ground rumbling beneath Jason’s feet.

Yeah, he really has no clue what is going on. But it isn’t his job to find out. Batman sent him out here for another reason, and he fully intends to see it through.

He leaps off the rooftop, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain in his ankle as he lands, making his way towards the site of the nearest collapse. He scans the area for civilians, although Oracle had assured him that it was cleared out. Then he starts digging through the rubble, just in case. You can never be too careful. Though if anyone is buried beneath the debris they must be very, _very_ not alive. There isn’t really anything hidden beneath the dust and blocks, nothing but more dust and blocks and…

Red and black.

He freezes.

Tim.

Mission accomplished. He’s found Red Robin. He can inform Oracle—she’ll send someone to pick him up and Jason can go on his merry way. Big B will be angry he didn’t follow his orders— _“Bring him straight back to the manor”_ —but sometimes Jason has a hard time caring about what he thinks.

He stares down at the boy, his feet rooted to the spot. He knows it’s Tim lying there, limbs splayed, caught under tonnes of brick and pipes, but… he looks at the boy and sees himself lying under the rubble, sees what must have assailed Bruce that one fateful day in Ethiopia. It’s only a few seconds, he knows, but he feels like he stands there for hours, brief flashes of a repressed memory layering themselves over the scene in front of him, like static crackling over a television screen. He won’t do it for Bruce, he decides. No, the reason he doesn’t leave, the reason Jason drops to his knees and begins clawing away at the debris: they’re Robins and they’re bound together by some fucked up sense of kinship.

“Red, you hear me?” he says once he clears enough debris away from his head, though he doesn’t expect much of a response.

He is careful as he lifts away a final piece of pipe crushing his abdomen, pushing it to the side when he’s sure it’s clear of his body. He stops breathing for a moment as he checks for a pulse. Jason lets himself relax a little when he feels it, as slow as it is. Tim is still alive. He is very much unconscious though, and his body looks… broken in some places, and as Jason pulls his arm away he realises it is covered in blood. He lifts Tim’s body a little, and there it is—a deep gash in his back, about the length of his hand. Tim is bleeding out and bleeding out fast, the debris beneath him coated in dark red. Jason patches what he can up quickly, but he knows Tim is going to need a blood transfusion and some proper medical care soon.

Tim’s communications must have been cut off completely in the collapse, otherwise Jason is going to have a ball telling Batman how shitty his tracker is it almost got his ‘son’ killed. _Is_ going to get him killed, unless Jason can get him back to the manor in time.

God.

He scoops the boy up in his arms, unsurprised by how easy it is to hold him up. The extra weight does put more strain on his ankle, but not too much. Tim is incredibly small for a vigilante. Incredibly small for his age, even. He’s not _tiny_ though, and thank God Jason is here and not the demon spawn. He doubts little baby Robin could get Tim far on his own.

Jason steps to the edge of the building, issuing a final adjustment and making sure Tim is secure in his grip before he jumps off and loses the boy to the wind.

He leaps, grapples onto the next building. Swings. So far so good. He hasn’t dropped him yet; he thinks he can make it the next few blocks.

Jason looks at the boy, his face against his chest, and appreciates how peaceful he looks. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this before. He is pretty sure Tim is in a perpetual state of Mensa puzzle-solving or something, his brows pulled together in a tight scowl, lips in a frustrated pout. Other times he’s got some lousy facade on, always trying to hide his emotions, pretend that he doesn’t feel anything. Much like a certain someone. Jason considers dropping some more buildings on him from time to time, just to see him like this again.

Better not. That other certain someone probably wouldn’t like that.

It’s five blocks down when Jason feels something close around his neck. Not just something—Tim’s hands, because _of course_ he’d wake now, when they’re so close to his bike Jason can almost taste it in his currently constricted throat.

For fuck’s sake—

He tries telling him to stop and _look around dweeb_ but his hands squeeze tighter around his throat.

Smart kid. Real smart, trying to strangle the guy that’s the only thing preventing them from dropping fifty feet to the ground and smattering their brains all over someone’s shiny Prius. And can someone tell him how Tim is this annoyingly relentless? Not ten minutes ago he was knocked out and on the verge of death.

Seriously, they’re so close to Jason’s bike, to the _manor_ for fuck’s sake—can Tim calm the fuck down for a _second_. He doesn’t. Jason can’t fucking breathe and any moment now he’s gonna lose his grip.

So he does something stupid.

He lets go.

He doesn’t let go of Tim of course, because the guy’s still wrapped around him like a fucking chimpanzee. No, he lets go of the grapple gun, starting them on a fifty foot drop to the wet concrete below.

He hopes to whatever god there is that Tim is still functioning well enough to grapple them to safety. He hopes Tim’s _grapple gun_ is functioning well enough to grapple them to safety. He hopes Tim still _has_ his grapple gun. Wow, he _really_ should’ve thought this through.

He thinks briefly of contacting Batman through his comm link—“Hey, B. Mind doing that thing you sometimes do—swinging in at the very last second to save the day? Haha!”—but he’s probably still busy having a grand old time leveling buildings with Killer Croc.

Thankfully, Tim eventually realises—maybe a couple of milliseconds before they pass the point of no return—that they aren’t gliding smoothly through the air anymore. His eyes widen, letting go of Jason to send out a grapple to the nearest building. Jason puts his hand over Tim’s, taking control of the gun.

Jason smirks down at him. “Good boy. Knew I could count on you.”

That forceful jolt into awareness did wonders on Tim, whose eyes are focused now. Focused on Jason. His voice, however, is quiet and hoarse when he says, “You count on me too much.”

Jason snorts, trying not to let the panic set in when Tim’s hold on him loosens slightly. “Since when?” he asks in an attempt to keep him engaged.

Before Tim can reply, Oracle buzzes in over the comm link. “ _You found him?_ ”

“Yup, we’re heading to my bike. He’s alive.”

“ _Injuries?_ ”

“A few.”

“ _A few? I’m gonna need a better report than that._ ”

“Look, I got this. He’ll be fine.”

“ _Well, Red Robin isn’t exactly in safe hands right now, Hood. Get him to the manor quick._ ”

Jason tries not to let that first sentence get to him. “Where do you think I’m going? Not my fault I don’t have the Batmobile at my disposal.”

Tim's grip suddenly completely slackens around him, unconscious again. Jason feels a warm wetness spread out on his back.

“Oh, nope!” Jason looks down in alarm, pulling the boy closer to him. “Nope, change of plans—I’m taking him to mine,” he says as he changes the direction of his next grapple, _away_ from his bike, towards—

“ _Hood_ ,” she growls. “ _He needs medical attention—_ ”

“And I can provide it! Red is in a bad way, Oracle. He needs _urgent_ medical attention. Look, my place is right across the road. I’m looking straight at it.” Which is a lie, he _will_ be looking straight at it once he hits this next turn—oh yeah, there it is. The one place in Gotham Jason actually has a decent medical set-up. Really is Tim’s lucky day.

“ _If anything happens to him—_ ”

“You and the rest of them will beat me senseless. But not kill me. I know.” Jason lands them safely on the rooftop without stumbling or paying any attention to the pain in his ankle. He shifts Tim into a bridal-style carry, which Jason is sure Tim would protest to if he were conscious, practically kicking the door down in his rush to get him inside. “Signing off, Oracle. I gotta get Red some band-aids.”

Oracle starts to object, but Jason disconnects their comms immediately. He needs to work fast and efficiently, and for that to happen, Jason needs to focus his whole and undivided attention on Tim. He is still unconscious when Jason lays him down on his kitchen table. He is also scarily pale. Jason works quickly. He takes his medical kit and his blood transfusion kit out of one of the cabinets, and grabs a blood bag out of the fridge.

“You are so lucky I just restocked last Wednesday, kid,” he says, warming the blood, and spiking and priming the IV.

He turns Tim on his side to inspect the wound on his back more closely. He needs to take the suit off if he’s gonna do any good here. He feels for the zip, unzipping it and exposing most of Tim’s back. Jesus, it’s bad. Deep. And still bleeding profusely. Jason takes his stitching kit out, getting to work. He works quickly yet methodically, sealing the wound in under six minutes. He slathers disinfectant over it, then turns Tim on his back again. He removes the rest of the suit, inspecting his body. He doesn’t appear to have as many broken bones as Jason had first thought. Just a broken arm and perhaps a few cracked ribs. Jason’s good at those.

The blood is ready now, so he hooks Tim up, praying to God he’s not too late. Then he goes back to looking at Tim’s arm, swinging his portable X-ray machine over the table and ensuring that nothing has been misaligned. He then prepares to make a cast. Jason is glad for his own familiarity with these processes—for a time, it was hard not receiving any help from Alfred, the one who had stitched him up after every patrol. But he was on his own with no one else to count on but himself. Of course he needed to learn how to patch himself up properly, especially with all the shit he got into in those years.

Jason tsks, looking down at Tim’s pale face as he puts the cast on his arm. When he wakes, he’s going to have to ask why he felt like strangling him. Jason can’t be _that_ bad to wake up to. They’ve had a tumultuous past, certainly, but he was sure they were mostly over it. Maybe Tim thought he was planning something unsavoury. Jason can’t fault him for being careful.

Jason is pulled out of his thoughts by his phone ringing in his pocket. He checks the number and sighs. “B.”

“ _Do you have him?_ ” Batman’s deep timbre growls across the line. Jason swears his phone vibrates in his hand. He puts it on speaker and leaves it on the counter.

“Yes, but he’s in no condition to go anywhere.”

There is a moment of silence, Bruce considering this piece of information. “ _Take him back to the manor, Jason,_ ” he finally says, and Jason hears the hint of a threat under his breath.

“When he’s better I’ll send him back,” he reasons. “I’m looking after the kid; Alfred taught me enough, you know. Or are you doubting him as a teacher?”

“ _I’m not._ ”

Jason collects and throws his bloody equipment into the sink. The metals clang against each other.

“But you’re doubting me.”

Bruce completely ignores that. “ _How is he currently?_ ”

“He’s not awake.” He turns away from the sink just to check again. “I’ve got an IV and some blood pumping into him. His vital signs are good. He’ll probably feel like hell when he wakes though.”

There is a moment of silence on the other end. Then, “ _Thank you. For this. For finding him._ ”

Jason snorts. “Right. You almost sound surprised. Really, were you expecting me not to get him? Nightwing is out in Blüdhaven. Robin is down and out of commission.”

“ _Your relationship was strained—_ ”

“‘Was’ being the keyword here. Me and little birdy work pretty well together now, if you weren’t paying attention. And I’m not as bat-shit crazy as I once was.” Jason makes a face at the unintended pun.

“ _I didn’t say you were._ ”

“How did you know to contact me, anyway? You didn’t even know I was back. Unless…” Jason stiffens. “Oh. Oh _no_ , don’t tell me. You tracked me? You’ve got eyes on me, don’t you? Fantastic.” Jason rolls his eyes, and although Bruce doesn’t answer him, he _knows_ , because of course Bruce is still as controlling and paranoid as ever.

“ _I couldn’t have you risking—_ ”

“Risking _what_?” Jason snaps. “Tell me right now, I _dare_ you.”

“ _Don’t threaten me—_ ”

“You don’t even trust me yet you go send me out like a fucking lapdog to retrieve your hurt little boy. You’re fucking _sick_.”

“ _I didn’t say I don’t trust you,_ ” Bruce says frustratedly, then sighs after a brief pause. “ _I’m just concerned._ ” His voice takes on a strained inflection.

“Jesus Christ, _stop talking_. Why did you even bother calling if you can fucking _see_ that I’ve got him?”

“ _I’m worried about_ you, _Jason,_ ” and _there_ it is, out comes the Bruce voice, “ _You’re still my—I still_ care—”

“Holy shit, do not give me this right now.” He reaches over and hits the end button, leaving blood all over his phone screen. “The _nerve_ of the guy, Jesus. Don’t know how you deal with him, honestly,” he says to the limp body on his table. “It’s _unhealthy_ , what he does. Should’ve given me a slap on the wrist and a ticket to Wayne Industries like the rest of those goons. Instead I get a crowbar in the gut and a skinny-ass replacement. Unbelievable.”

He looks back at the med bay. Tim doesn’t offer any response other than a subtle, almost imperceptible twitch of the eyelids.

“I’m just joking, of course,” Jason says, after he’s sure Tim hasn’t woken up. “I loved being Robin. Up until the dead part. But the whole Red Hood get-up ain’t too bad.” Jason snorts. “I’ve gotta get rid of those damn bugs now too. Fuck.” Jason flips off the camera in the corner of his living room, just in case Bruce has already hacked into his indoor CCTV system, then flips off Tim for good measure too, though he immediately feels bad about it.

“Sorry,” he says.

***

After Jason’s found and destroyed the bugs around his house, he celebrates on the couch with a cold beer and some pizza. He fucked up his ankle a little bit though, as it’s become swollen and really fucking painful, but he’s got it elevated on a pillow on his coffee table with a brace around it, so he should be fine, as long as he rests these next few days. He’s twenty minutes into a Friends marathon when he hears Tim shifting around in the kitchen. When he walks in, Tim is crouched over, the blanket Jason left for him over his bare shoulders, fumbling around in the fridge.

“It’s not exactly a good idea to be standing around in your condition.”

“Says the one who nearly killed us both while trying to save my life,” Tim says, but he shuts the fridge and turns to face Jason. “And before I forget, sorry for trying to kill you while you were saving my life.”

“Don’t worry about it. You were pretty out of it.”

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “Nice way to put almost dying.”

“I’m just a nice guy.”

“You say, after you’ve tried to kill me several times.”

Jason watches Tim sway slightly, looking like he might topple over any second. “We can call it even. Now let’s get you into bed.”

“Not creepy at all,” Tim mutters, but he lets Jason guide him into his room, one of Jason’s hands wrapped loosely around his uninjured arm and the other around his waist. Jason can’t get over how tiny he is, his own hand enveloping Tim’s skinny wrist, his head barely reaching Jason’s shoulders. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“Don’t wanna sleep next to big bro?” Jason teases, helping Tim sit down and retrieving some clothes for him from the closet. He throws them onto the bed.

“Not unless you have somewhere else to sleep.”

“Nah. My couch is a fold-out. It’s pretty fun.”

“I’m still hungry,” Tim says, his stomach rumbling loudly. He looks up at Jason with a hopeful look on his face.

Jason snorts, though he is sort of impressed. “Can you do that on command or something?”

“No,” Tom snorts, “it was coincidence.” He picks up Jason’s shirts, holding them against his torso one-by-one like he’s in a shopping mall, sizing up different clothes.

“Ha. You can have the rest of my pizza,” Jason says, going back to the lounge to retrieve the box. He hands it over to Tim, who has wrangled himself into his clothes. He looks tiny in them, the neck of his shirt sliding off his shoulder, hanging loosely over his frame. Jason tuts. “Yeah, you definitely need it, tiny Tim.”

Tim makes a face, then climbs into the bed, tucking himself under Jason’s many blankets. He pulls the pizza box into his lap. “I don’t need to be built like a weightlifter to be an effective fighter, you giant.” He shoves a slice into his mouth.

“Never said you did.” He sits next to Tim. “But it would be better. A few more pounds wouldn’t hurt.” He lightly thumps Tim’s unhurt arm. “Protect you better in a fight.”

“Is this _the_ Jason Todd showing _concern_?” Tim smirks as he chews, grease already smeared on his cheek.

Jason is surprised at how offended he feels. “Hey, I care.”

“Right.”

“I care,” Jason reiterates. He does his best to hide the hurt threatening to appear on his face. “You wouldn’t be here, eating _my_ pizza, if I didn’t.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. Didn’t know you were such a Care Bear.”

“I sure don’t come across like that to most people. Anyway, wanna tell me why you felt like wringing your hands around my neck?”

Jason catches Tim’s eyes flitting away for a second. “Like you said, I was out of it. I didn’t really know what was going on.”

Jason leans towards him, but Tim still refuses to lock eyes. He is too easy to read. “I saw you, kid. You seemed pretty aware to me.”

Tim sighs. “It’s a little hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Tim stops eating, meeting Jason’s eyes once more, perhaps judging his own expression, then putting his half-eaten slice back into the box. “Okay, but only because I know you won’t let this go. Just… don’t get angry.”

“Promise,” Jason says, sitting up now, his curiosity piqued. “Tell me.”

Tim visibly deflates, slightly hunching in on himself. “Well… sometimes I have nightmares where you’re there… hurting me. I panicked. Thought it was a nightmare. So falling to our deaths didn’t really cross my mind.”

Jason sits silently for a moment, letting the words soak through. “You… you dream about me… hurting you?” he says slowly.

“They’re recycled images mostly. From back then.” Tim looks sheepish, his eyes downcast, lips twisted into an apologetic line.

“You don’t have to look like I’m going to hit you, you know.”

“I didn’t know how you’d feel.” Tim’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I feel angry, but not at you. I realised where that anger needed to be directed a while ago. A little too late, obviously.”

“It’s not your fault, Jason.”

Jason stands up suddenly. There's a pain in his chest and he's quite sure it's not heartburn. “Finish off that pizza then get some rest.” He leaves the room, attempting to distract himself from his thoughts by cleaning up the blood and tools left on the table.

***

Dick calls him while he’s in the garage waxing his bike at 8am. He wasn’t able to sleep the whole night, his last conversation with Tim driving him to distract himself in any way possible, from cleaning the med bay to cleaning out his pantry. He’s also kind of vaguely aware that he should be resting his ankle and healing, but he doesn’t care. He’s angry, he’s on edge, he’s in pain, and Dick is yammering away about something unimportant while Jason feels like he’s going to snap at any moment—

“ _B’s in a mood again,_ ” Dick is saying, “ _Might just be his old age, but he’s getting clumsy with the collateral damage. That’s seven buildings that were leveled in the fight. Not to mention the crater—_ ”

“At least no one was hurt,” Jason says, trying to prompt Dick into showing even a little concern for the younger boy.

Dick continues, talking over him,“ _People are calling for him to answer_ again _—I mean, as if last time wasn’t enough, y’know—_ ”

Jason can’t stop the derision in his voice. “Heh. Well. Bruce’ll pay for the most of the damage anyway. Billionaire philanthropist, remember?”

Dick sighs so hard he can practically _hear_ him rolling his eyes. “ _Surprisingly, I don’t think it’ll help PR. A lot of people are angry, they want B—_ ”

“A lot of people should be angry people were _hurt_ , too.”

“ _There was no one in those buildings at the time, at least there haven’t been any reported deaths or injuries. Incredibly lucky, I think, considering last time, but people are still talking, the press are gonna be—_ ”

“Screw your people and screw your PR! Get the hint, Dick! I don’t give a damn about that shit. Jesus, I did your job, I saved your baby brother, alright? He was barely alive a few hours ago and you call me and talk to me about fucking _PR_.”

“ _I—I’m sorry,_ ” Dick says, startled by his outburst. “ _But calm down, Jason. I didn’t mean—_ ”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He hangs up, tossing his phone away.

Jason tenses for a moment, hand tightening into a fist, about to kick a chair across the garage and fuck up his ankle even more, before he relaxes and shuts his eyes. _In, out. Breathe_. He makes his way back upstairs once he’s relaxed enough, retrieving his phone before he does. He looks towards his room, the door open, lights off. He sighs.

His phone beeps. He lies back on his couch, huffing when he sees it’s a message from Kory. A photo message, more specifically, of a very hot and very naked Koriand’r and an equally naked Roy, their legs tangled together, half covered by sheets. Kory’s hair takes up most of the photo. It’s everywhere. Roy’s buried half his face in it, but Jason can make out his smile, the lift of his cheek giving away everything.

 _We miss you!!!_ , is the next message he receives. A ton of love heart emojis come after that.

Jason snorts. He doubts that Kory would send this out of spite but his chest begins to ache anyway.

 _Unfortunately I have nowhere to appreciate the fine photo you sent - my room is currently occupied_ , he shoots back.

_What?! Are you back together with Isabel?_

_I’ll have to keep you guessing. I’m a man of mystery._

_Unfair!_

It’s only when he puts his phone away that he realises a little smile had grown on his face without his own volition. He misses his friends. Messaging them helps alleviate some of the longing, but the more time he spends out here in Gotham the more he becomes aware of the two big empty spaces in his life where they should be. He can’t let them know that though. First of all, because he has a reputation to keep, because he’s an asshole like that. Second, because he knows them well enough to be certain that the second Jason shows any sign of missing them, they would rush to his side in a second. They love him that much. Another pang of pain rushes through his chest at the thought. Those big, dumb doofuses. He can’t do that though, can’t give in and send out a _SOS I’m lonely and I need you_. This break is as much for them as it is for him. They’re basically newlyweds, and he thought it wise to give them space to… figure each other out and do whatever it is that newlyweds do.

If they think he’s spending time fucking someone else it’s better than them thinking that he’s completely and utterly alone.

“I can go fuck myself,” he announces, voice rough and scratchy. His chest feels heavy and hollow at the same time.

“That’d be a sight to see,” Tim’s voice says from behind him.

He jumps in surprise, disguising it by getting up completely and going over to Tim who is standing at his bedroom doorway. “Easy there, tiger. You’ve gotta get back down and rest.” He spins Tim around and pushes against his back gently, prodding him towards the bed. He looks better, most of the colour has returned to his skin, and he isn’t bleeding profusely through his bandages. Jason gives himself a mental pat on the back.

“I’ve rested for ten hours straight,” Tim tells him, pushing back against Jason, hobbling out to the lounge. “I physically cannot sleep any more than that.”

“You can still _rest_ though,” Jason insists, following Tim like a mother hen. “Just lie down. Have you not been injured before? You’re not meant to go gallivanting around, kid.”

“I wasn’t gallivanting,” Tim huffs, brushing Jason’s lingering hands away. “I was checking on you. You were talking to yourself.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

Jason huffs. “Whatever. Everyone talks to themselves.”

“True.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“You’re really expressive without the mask.”

“Jesus, are those the drugs finally kicking in?”

“I’m just making conversation. You were talking to yourself.”

“Just—just sit down.” He guides Tim over to the couch and throws him the TV remote. “I’ll make breakfast.”

He fries some eggs and bacon, heating up some bread rolls while he’s at it. Tim turns the channel to the Saturday morning cartoons. Jason can hear the Transformers theme song begin to play. He divides the food when he’s finished cooking, but before he goes back to Tim he heaps a little more onto Tim’s plate, humming contentedly when he’s done.

He jumps onto the couch, handing Tim his plate. Jason side-eyes Tim, waiting to see if he notices their unequal shares, but he doesn’t. Tim takes a big bite into his roll, chewing noisily.

“Jeez, did they not teach you manners over there?” he teases.

Tim swallows before he talks. “Sorry. Alfred usually tells me off. I’m more relaxed here, I guess. Also, I wasn’t expecting this. I was expecting something like what Dick usually gives me. Not this. This is excellent.” He takes another bite and begins chewing quietly.

Jason nudges him. The kid sure has his tells when he’s nervous. He marvels at how people continuously fall for his acts. “It’s eggs, bread, and bacon, bud. Not exactly hard to cook. And I was kidding. Chew as loud as you want. I’m a total pig for bacon.” He snorts, attempting to mimic a pig, but instead, a piece of bacon becomes lodged in his throat and he begins choking.

Tim laughs, holding his side as he does. “Ow, ow, ow,” he says, tears in his eyes.

The bacon eventually goes down, but Jason’s eyes are watery when he looks at Tim and Tim looks at him. What a sorry sight they must make.

“Well, I’ve had enough near death experiences to last a lifetime,” Jason says, biting into another piece of bacon like nothing happened.

This starts Tim laughing again. “Ow." He grimaces. “I’m not gonna be able to look at you and bacon the same way again.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever looked at me and bacon the same way. Your mouth never watered when you looked at me.”

“Funny.” Tim goes back to munching on his bread rolls. “Your warm buns are lovely, by the way.”

Jason snorts. “That was terrible.”

“No, but really,” Tim says, stuffing another bun into his mouth, “this is way better than the stuff I eat at Dick’s. This might come second to Alfred.”

Jason tries not to let the compliment get to him. Alfred didn’t just teach him how to give medical treatment. Alfred was always there to ensure he was learning something. Being productive. Jason always gave him a hard time—you can take the kid outta the street, but you can’t take the street outta the kid—but Jason absorbed everything he taught him. Batman wasn’t the only hero he had as a boy at Wayne Manor, after all. And—Tim’ll get fidgety soon and ask Jason what he’s thinking about, and Jason really doesn’t want to get all choked up in front of him. So he fills the air with idle talk. “What does Dick give you when you’re at his anyway? I remember being served Lucky Charms every day I was there. I think I have nightmares about being buried under ten tonnes of Froot Loops too.”

Tim doesn’t notice the diversion. “Reese’s Puffs was a constant in my life at one point. I think he had about seven boxes stocked in his pantry.”

“Holy shit. He hasn’t changed at all.”

“Not at all.”

“He’s honestly going to get diabetes with the way he scoffs down all that sugary shit.”

Tim shrugs. “He loves it too much.”

“He called, you know.”

Tim looks down at his lap. “I know. I heard.”

Jason furrows his brows. “How long have you been awake?”

Tim bites his lip. “I might’ve lied about sleeping for ten hours,” he says sheepishly.

“I should just knock you out. It’s pretty rude to listen in on other people’s conversations.” Jason wonders about what he heard, what he thought of it. Jason got pretty riled up about him. He blamed it partly on Dick talking about PR and representation and shit, but he does genuinely care.

Tim shrugs. “I’m a Robin. I can’t help it.”

“Don’t I know it,“ Jason mutters. “So when do you wanna go back?”

Tim looks up. “To Bruce or the Titans?”

“Bruce was pretty adamant about getting you to him.”

“Hmm. There are some files I need to give him. When does he want me there?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. When do _you_ wanna go?”

Tim purses his lips, a line appearing between his brows. “If you don’t mind, I kinda don’t wanna go back just yet.”

“Sure. You’re paying for the next pizza though. And we might need to get your clothes if you don’t wanna go around looking like a troublemaker.”

“Troublemaker.” Tim scoffs. “I have a trustworthy face.”

“Yeah, spend some time with me though, and I’ll definitely rub off on you.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim yawns, yelping and wincing in pain as he does.

Jason can’t stop the amused huff that escapes his lips. “That's what you get when you don’t listen to your elders. Get to sleep, twerp. I’ll save your food.” He takes Tim’s plate as Tim grumbles on the couch about _not enough rest yet, you can’t rush healing_ , heading to the kitchen, washing his own empty plate in the sink and wrapping Tim's in plastic wrap and putting it in the fridge. It’s painfully domestic, he knows, and it reminds him of Kory and Roy, sharing a home with them, being all cute and tame—when they weren’t off saving planets from destruction and all that. He really misses them, and still wishes he could be with them, but he’s got a responsibility _here_ now. Someone else who needs him. Maybe not as much as he needs Kory and Roy, but he’s still family. Still just a kid. When he walks back to the lounge, Tim is fast asleep, arms and legs splayed out, mouth wide open, not a care in the world.

Jason shakes his head, going back down to the garage. It’s comfortable, having Tim around like this, having someone to look after. He’s comfortable with Roy and Kory too, but this is different. He can’t explain why, and he can’t be bothered looking too much into it. It’s not going to last anyway. Tim will go back to the Titans and Jason will leave Gotham.

He snorts when he hears the loud snores from the lounge, and shuts the door so the noise is cut off completely. Yeah, he won’t let himself get used to this.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s five in the afternoon when Tim wakes up. The ache in his head must be a consequence of wasting the whole day sleeping. He gasps a little as he gets up, leaning too heavily on his side. Buckets of sunlight pour in through the open blinds, warming his pale skin. He can see why Jason chooses to sleep on the couch.

Jason. He still finds it strange being able to say his name without that untouchable reverence attached to it. Jason, the second Robin. A legend. A cautionary tale. Jason was the constant reminder in the back of his head to be careful, guiding him away from bad decisions and risky situations. Now, he’s… just a man. Just a guy who’s tried killing Tim twice, and is now trying to make up for it in all the ways that he can. Saving his life. Providing him with shelter. Buying him pizza.

It was terrifying when Jason first approached him without harbouring an intent to kill. Tim wasn’t sure if he could trust him. But now, it’s just… confusing. His feelings are torn this way and that, and he still can’t quite associate the Boy Wonder with the man underneath the Red Hood, nor the man who beat him to a bloody pulp with the man who stitched him up and tucked him into bed. And God, he’s just making his headache worse thinking about this so soon after he’s woken up.

Tim groans, the pain in his ribs much more apparent now that the painkillers have worn off. Thankfully, an arm comes over the couch and hands him some more. He mutters thanks as he downs them, almost unsurprised at how quickly he is attended to. Then the owner of the arm pulls a chair over, along with his helmet and a toolbox. He sits down, putting his leg up on the coffee table, and begins making repairs.

Tim finds himself slightly taken aback. A white tank, dark jeans—he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jason dressed like this before. It’s very… revealing. Tim catches himself before he can think a certain rhyming word beginning with _A_.

“I told you you shouldn’t have slept on the couch. You’re making things worse for yourself,” Jason says, popping the screwdriver he’s holding into his mouth and brushing his hair back out of his eyes.

Tim finds himself having to break out of a stare. You _are making things very hard for_ me, he wants to say. Instead, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason repeats mockingly. “Do you not want to get better or something?”

Tim’s too tired to argue. He lies back down instead and watches him tweak around with his helmet for a while, watching the look of concentration on his face. He doesn’t see Jason often with the helmet off, so he relishes in seeing him now. He really is quite expressive—his thick brows forming interesting lines upon his face, lip caught between his teeth as a show of engrossment.

Good-looking is what he is, and good-looking is what Tim will leave it at. He doesn’t dare tell him though, and part of Tim wonders why. It’s strange for him. He doesn’t have the same reservations with Dick—he’ll casually skip by with a, “Handsome today, Dick,” or a teasing “Mr. Sexy,” and he’s even taken to complimenting Bruce when he’s in a good mood—but when it comes to Jason he can’t. _Why?_ He’s never thought of himself as shy. But something about Jason scares him. He feels as if he’s already slipped up enough.

Jason starts, seemingly having remembered something. He strides into the kitchen, bringing back eggs, bacon, and bread rolls for Tim. Tim thanks him again then reaches under the coffee table for one of the art magazines Jason keeps there, because yes, Jason is one of _those_ people.

He has trouble keeping his eyes off of Jason as he eats his breakfast, so he indulges himself just a little, pretending to keep his eyes on the open magazine while sneaking glances at him.

Tim hasn’t seen so much _skin_. Jason is tan all over, which is surprising because he never wears anything besides his Red Hood attire. His waist is surprisingly small in relation to his chest and thighs, which are… thick. Tim can’t think of a better word to describe them. It’s a pleasing shape, and Tim finds himself wishing he could wrap an arm around his waist, just to know what it feels like.

Jason suddenly sneezes without covering his mouth, and Tim is pulled out of his daytime reverie. He watches as Jason wipes the spittle off his helmet. Jason catches him staring and snorts. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Tim asks, genuinely wanting to know what his face was doing to make Jason react like that.

“Like I’m gross. I wiped it off, Christ.” His face pulls down into a scowl as he reaches down for the spray bottle on the table and spritzes it over his helmet.

“I wasn’t…” He trails off as Jason takes a small cloth and begins rubbing away at the substance he just sprayed. By the way the metal glints after Jason’s taken his cloth to it, Tim assumes it’s polish. His mind begins to go places as he watches Jason’s long fingers going in small circular motions as he polishes his helmet. Dear God.

The rest of the day passes painstakingly slowly, mostly in silence. Jason doesn’t leave the house, instead opting to do some cleaning and repairs here and there despite his bad ankle. He orders takeout and sends Tim off to bed at one in the morning.

The next few days pass in the same fashion. Tim occupies himself with TV and some of the random books Jason seems to keep in every crevice of the place. When Tim finds a corner dedicated to classics like 1984 and Animal Farm he doesn’t even feel surprised. He just files the information away under ‘Interesting Facts to know about Jason Todd.’ It’s a cognitive list that’s grown two times larger in the past week. Along with classic novels, Tim’s learnt that he keeps a few music CDs lying around from artists that Tim hasn’t even heard of. They’re quite old too—Jason doesn’t appear to listen to anything made after 1990.

He doesn’t talk much either, Tim notes. Actually, if Tim doesn’t initiate conversation, Jason makes no attempt to start one himself. He bets Jason could go through days in silence. This again does not coincide with the image Tim had of him in his head. He had picked him for a loud, obnoxious kind of person the first couple of times they had interacted with each other after Jason’s return—his _real_ return—whereupon he began working with the family again. He seemed to love stepping on Batman’s toes, and riling up Dick and Damian. So now Tim is just confused. This isn’t the Jason he has come to know.

Tim doesn’t mind quiet. He likes quiet. He’s used to quiet. But this is _Jason_. He really isn’t sure if the reason why Jason is so silent is because it’s a personality trait or he simply genuinely doesn’t like Tim. He supposes he just doesn’t know him well enough to know for sure. He knows he shouldn’t care, but he’s staying at his place for god’s sake. If Jason really finds his presence reprehensible he wishes he would just be straight and tell him to get out instead of leaving him in this one-sided back-and-forth state.

He gets a little paranoid after a few more days. It’s probably the tension building up from sitting around all day, answering emails from work or Bruce, and watching Jason flitting around the house silently. Jason lent him his laptop so Tim could talk with and message his friends but screens don’t compare at all to human contact. He refused to let Steph visit even though she insisted, as he decided that doing that is probably incredibly rude to the person who’s letting him stay at his place. Also, Jason sacrificing the privacy and security of his safe house just so Tim can invite a friend over? It’s too strange to be anything but suspicious.

Tim begins thinking that Jason may be subtly telling him to leave. They really have not spoken to each other at all in a week. Jason doesn’t even acknowledge him most of the time.

Tim sighs. He’s so _bored_. Maybe he should go back to the Tower. Or back to Bruce. Whichever, as long as he isn’t bored to tears there. He just needs to tell Jason to bring him there. Whenever he sees him next. Which could be today, tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe even never. Jason could be dead wherever he is because Tim doesn’t even know where he is. And that’s a terrible thought to have, for many reasons. Christ, he’s being overdramatic. They see each other every day, and Jason hasn’t run off somewhere overnight without giving Tim a head’s up first.

And, exactly as Tim predicted, Jason walks out of the garage later on that night, briskly like he’s going to pass on by without greeting Tim. Exactly how it’s been every day before this.

“Hey,” Tim says, before Jason can walk out of his view.

Jason looks up, with a surprised look on his face. He has grease on his forehead. “Hello?”

Tim keeps his expression blank. “Nice to see you, too.”

Jason squints, then suddenly looks apologetic. He must be better at reading social cues than Tim thought, because he seems to understand Tim’s tone and intention straight away. “Yeah… uh. Sorry, I’ve been… I’ve been out.”

“I know you’ve been out,” Tim states. “I’ve been inside. Just a gentle reminder, if you’ve somehow forgotten.”

“I have been kind of neglectful, haven’t I?” Jason rubs the back of his neck, lips pulled back in a grimace. “I’m really not used to this. I kind of forget that people are meant to, y’know, talk. I just wasn’t sure if you…” The words come out in a rush and trail off at the end. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, continuing to rub his neck. There’s grease on his skin there now.

Tim feels relief. Jason’s just inexperienced with these things. He’s _awkward_. Maybe Tim should’ve tried initiating a conversation with him instead of immediately jumping to conclusions, thinking he didn’t want him here. “I’d like to talk,” he says. He does his best to fight the gushing hopefulness he’s feeling from entering his voice.

Jason takes a moment, then smiles slowly at him. It’s a crooked smile, one Tim’s never seen on him before, and he appears to fight it back down, without prevailing. “I’ll just… wash up and make us dinner, how’s that sound?”

“Great.”

They end up on the couch together watching Total Recall and eating macaroni and cheese. Jason called it his favourite comfort food when he handed Tim a bowl, though why he’d need his comfort food now Tim isn’t entirely sure.

“Why did you come back to Gotham anyway? It seems like you’re doing a whole lot of… nothing right now,” Tim says after he finishes his bowl and downs a number of pain pills. He doesn’t count. The pain in his ribs flares up now and again, and he is currently in the period of a flare. If he overdoses, Jason’s got the setup to get him back to working order straight away. It’s totally foolproof.

“I’m on my break,” Jason says, his face somewhat concerned, watching Tim carefully. He puts his bowl of macaroni down. Tim thinks he might be considering forcing the pills back out of him. He briefly entertains the idea of Jason putting his fingers in his mouth, and immediately interrupts that thought with a, _You are reprehensible, Tim Drake._

“Your break?” Tim asks, partly because he’s curious, and partly because he wants to distract Jason from his concern over Tim’s wellbeing. Also partly because the image of Jason’s fingers in his mouth is beginning to morph into something even more inappropriate the longer he is allowed to be with his thoughts.

It works to distract Jason, at least. He picks his bowl back up and talks through a mouthful of macaroni. “I take a few weeks off every now and then. Sue me.”

“Evil stops for no one, Jason,” Tim replies reproachfully. “Consider yourself sued.”

Jason smiles, a little amused huff escaping his nostrils as he keeps his mouth shut to chew. “So what? You never give yourself some me-time?”

“I have enough me-time when I’m in my civvies.”

Jason gives him a disapproving look. “Attending parties and galas with B and crew? Going to school? That kind of stuff doesn’t count as me-time. You’re still playing a role, still doing your duty. A true break is lying around in bed all day.”

Tim raises a brow. “All day? Sounds boring.”

“Well then maybe lying around in a couple different beds, too.” Jason’s smile turns smug.

Tim looks up in surprise. Jason’s never talked about his love life. Tim just assumed he didn’t really have one. He couldn’t imagine the violent, revenge-obsessed man having relations with anyone. But, Tim supposes, he’s changed. He’s mellowed out. He’s _Jason_ now. Tim shouldn’t be surprised that he’s climbing into different beds every night. He’s a conventionally attractive guy, sure, and a lot of girls would go for the bad boy vibe, Tim guesses.

“You’ve gone quiet. Does the son of Gotham’s billionaire playboy have no S.O. on his arm?”

“I… used to date. Not anymore. It’s not safe.” He leaves the ‘son’ comment well enough alone.

Jason nods. “I get that. Those were my reasons too.”

“You’ve had a girlfriend? Never picked you for the dating type.”

Jason raises his brows. “You thought I didn’t date?”

“Not… not because of anything… _weird_. Just because you’ve never really seemed interested in that stuff.”

Jason’s brows seem to rise even higher. “I never seemed interested?” He hums. “I guess it was because I was a revenge-obsessed little _tyke_ back then. I can see why I seemed that way.”

“You weren’t revenge-obsessed.”

“That’s subjective.”

Tim lets it go. “So you’ve… dated?”

Jason leans back and smirks. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden, birdie? You—oh.” A look of revelation comes across his face, his smile widening. “You want dating advice from big birdie?”

“U—uh, not really. I told you, I’ve stopped dating. I’m just curious about you. You’ve kind of been estranged from us the past few years.”

Jason hums. “Yeah, no kidding.” He kicks his legs up onto the coffee table, wincing slightly as he raises his left leg. “Now’s my turn to be a big brother, huh? Okay. What do you wanna know? Have I dated? Officially? Once.”

“Tell me about her.”

“That’s another thing I’ve noticed with you, Timmy. You keep assuming it’s a _her_. How do you know I’m not gay?”

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

“O—okay.” Tim can’t tell if his leg is being pulled. He decides he’s probably better off if he doesn’t dwell on it.

“Her name was Isabel,” Jason continues. “Really nice girl. Flight stewardess. She handled me pretty well considering… She got shot out to space once with the rest of us and got lumped in with all the other bullshit, yet she kept her head the entire time. Really good girl. She realised that she could do so much better than me though, so we broke it off. I think she found a nice guy.”

Tim nods. He knows how hard it is to keep civilian girlfriends. Too many risks, too many dangers. “So is she the only one you’ve dated?”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

“Oh. Really?”

“You surprised?”

“Kind of. A little. Not really.”

“You know,” Jason says as he folds his arms behind his head, “sex is different from dating.”

A blush starts up around Tim’s neck. “I know that.”

“Alright. Just making sure.” He looks at Tim and smirks, and Tim knows he can see his flush, unfading and prominent on his pale skin. He groans inwardly. He sets himself up for people to mess with too easily sometimes. “Was all that a lead up to this? You want the birds and the bees talk?” He can tell Jason is getting a kick out of this. “You know, I’m _much_ more hands-on than Bruce and Alfred. You prefer bananas or cucumbers? I never really got a grasp on that rich kid palate.”

“Please don’t.”

“You’re lucky, I’m pretty sure I’ve got some donuts lying around.”

Tim weighs the pros and cons of using violence in this situation. He snatches the TV remote off the coffee table and hurls it at Jason’s head. Jason hits it away, then looks at Tim sternly. Pain flashes up his side, but it’s worth it for the look on Jason’s face. “You’re gonna have to pick that up,” Jason admonishes. “Also, I actually do have donuts and I _was_ going to give them to you, but you’ve just proved yourself unworthy.”

Tim sighs, though the crooked smile on his face won’t go away. He allows the comfortable silence between them to last a few moments before he decides there’s been enough quiet around them to last a lifetime. “This is the most we’ve talked in days, Jay.”

“I know,” Jason says, without looking away from the television screen.

“So, don’t normal people talk more than this?”

“We’re not really normal though, are we.”

“No, but I need to talk. I’m bored out of my mind here.”

“I know.” Jason bites his lip. “I’m not great at talking. I’m really not. I’m still getting used to just being around people, Timmy. So just invite your friends over. It’s no big deal.”

Tim lets out another annoyed sigh. “I can’t. It’s rude.”

“Just do it. I don’t make great company. If you want your friends over just let them come.”

Tim makes another frustrated noise. “I don’t want to bring them _here_.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with me, you stubborn brat.” Jason’s tone suddenly takes on a bite.

Tim is shocked by the sudden change. He realises then, how what he said sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that. Your place is fine. _You’re_ fine. I just don’t want to force you to compromise. I don’t want you to sacrifice your secrecy just for me. And if you weren’t being such an asshole, maybe you would’ve understood that,” he can’t help himself from snapping at the end.

“Right. _I’m_ being the asshole.”

Tim laughs in spite. “ _God,_ can’t we just leave this alone?”

“You wanted to talk, Timmy, now we’re talking. You don’t like it? Invite your friends. Or just leave. Simple as that.”

Tim glares at him, but really, he’s hurt at how he’s just been _dismissed_. “You said you _cared_.”

Jason purses his lips and lowers his head. Tim looks on incredulously. Guilt-tripping seems to work wonders on him. “I care,” he says begrudgingly. “I just don’t see why—”

“Please, Jay.” Tim shuffles a little closer, leaning towards Jason. “Just stop asking me to bring my friends. I’m not going to, and that’s that. I just wanted you to stop ignoring me. That’s it. So please, let’s not fight about this.”

Jason snorts, pushing him away with his shoulder. “Don’t strain yourself begging, kid. Don’t want you fucking yourself up even more and staying longer here.”

Tim shifts away, straightening back up. “I’m not going to.”

Jason grimaces. “Look, that—” A sigh. “That came out worse than I meant. I just want you to take care of yourself.” He snorts self-deprecatingly. “I’ve been so focused on making sure that happens that I’ve forgotten about the other stuff. Like actually treating you like a person. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Tim pauses. He wonders how much more he should say, if saying more would cause Jason to close up again. He tries it in a joking way, so as not to scare him away, “I’m glad we talked about it. I didn’t know you could open up like that.”

Jason glowers, but there’s no heat behind it. “I’m not a robot.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tim says derisively, because he’s still feeling a little hurt and he’s petty.

“Not everyone’s so willing to spill their emotions to anyone, kid.”

“I’m not just anyone though.”

“No, you’re not.” Jason looks at him for the longest time, then stands. He leaves the room, leaving Tim to ponder alone on his words.

***

When Tim wakes up and reads the note Jason left for him, he realises that Jason truly is one of the most stubborn people he’s ever met.

_Your phone was pinging through the night. Took a glance—Steph seems eager to meet up. Invited her out of courtesy :)_

Tim wants to kill him. But then he finds eggs and bacon left inside the microwave, and the feeling subsides a little bit. There is also a note on the fridge, saying he’d left some lunch for the ‘kids’. Jason seems to be taking this all in good humour, but it doesn’t stop Tim from feeling completely guilty and selfish over it.

Tim heats up his breakfast along with some coffee while he’s waiting, watching the news at the same time. There’s a segment on Killer Croc’s rampage through Gotham City. They’re talking about Batman, all the damage done to the city, all the things Jason was angry about. Tim doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get why Jason cares, doesn’t get why he had the sudden change of heart. It’s _infuriating_ being around him all day, every day, and not knowing _why_.

He is so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice hot coffee spilling out onto the counter until some lands on his foot. He hisses, then redirects the stream into the mug. His _own_ mug—with large font that reads _“You can't fight crime if you ain't cute!”_ of all things—that Jason bought for him from a quaint little coffee shop down the street.

It’s _blasphemous_.

A knock sounds at the door. Tim goes to open it, expecting to be bombarded with questions upon Steph’s entry, but instead she just gives him a big squeeze and smiles brightly at him.

“Hello!” she greets him joyfully, stepping past the threshold after she lets him go. “You finally upgraded places, huh?” she teases.

“Funny.” Tim crosses his arms and follows behind her after closing the door. “Surprised you didn’t come in through the window.”

“Yeah, didn’t know you had a safe house up here,” she says, eyes roaming all over the place. “It’s neat. All the sleepovers we could’ve had…”

“Hmm, yeah, it’s not exactly _my_ safe house.”

“Oh, is it Batman’s?”

“No.”

“Who’s looking after you?“ she asks, eyes shifting away from the bookcase to look at Tim.

“Someone.” He shrugs. “I just don’t think I should be betraying the privacy of the person who’s letting me stay here.”

She shrugs. “That’s true, I guess. Doesn’t make sense why you’d invite me though. And doesn’t mean I’m letting it go.”

“Well, hey. Before you start interrogating me,” Tim says, a lopsided smile growing on his face as takes a black box from under the coffee table, something Tim had asked Jason to purchase for him a few days ago to alleviate his boredom. “I’ve got a new card game I’ve gotta teach you.”

She squints at the white lettering on the box. “What is that? Cards Against Humanity? Terrible game—overhyped, overplayed,” she says, shaking her head.

“But have you played it?”

“No,” she admits, flashing him a cheeky smile, and Tim can see the childlike excitement simmering underneath.

Tim rolls his eyes and grins, crawling onto the couch and dealing cards, Steph sitting beside him.

Before they start a game Steph is already laughing at the cards she's been dealt, and making faces at the more offensive ones. Tim is pretty sure she laughs at the ‘Infertile sperm whale’ card for at least one minute, shoving it in his face and pointing to it, scattering her cards all over the carpet in the process. He tells her off for showing her cards to him, but there's no weight behind it.

He feels… lighter having Steph here with him. Her lively eyes, her bright, infectious laugh. Tim has missed her, has missed messing around and being silly like they used to do.

He’s missed feeling so carefree.

He laughs so hard his ribs hurt, and they hurt even more when Steph forgets herself and punches him in the side. He cries a little after that, all the while Steph is apologising and laughing hysterically next to him.

Steph sleeps next to him in Jason’s bedroom. She’d fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and started snoring right after that. She’s always been a heavy sleeper. Tim watches her sleeping face, her mouth open wide and lopsided, drool leaking onto the pillow. He fights the urge to take a photo.

He feels wistful, realising that he can never have this with Jason. Not this kind of childish, silly bond, free of deep-rooted tensions. No matter how hard they try to improve their relationship, there’s always going to be things in their past they can never forget.

***

Jason comes home a few minutes after Steph leaves. And, that’s weird— _home_. Tim didn’t realise he’d started referring to Jason’s safe house as a home, but. It feels right. Natural.

She’d left through the window, much to Tim’s disapproval.

“ _You came in through the door, why go out through the window?_ ”

“ _I’m going to scope this place out._ ”

Tim had just sighed.

“Hey,” Tim greets Jason as he walks up from the garage. “Where’d you go?”

“Your friend came.” Jason shrugs his jacket off, folding it over his arm. Tim gets a whiff of his cologne. “Told you I’d make myself scarce.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about you using my phone without my permission later, but, where’d you go?”

“It’s a surprise. Wait in the bedroom.” He goes back into the garage.

Tim fights down the strange, excited feeling in his gut, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. _Wait in the bedroom_. _Wait in the bedroom?_ Who else can say that so unceremoniously and yet get Tim’s heart thrumming like a hummingbird? Jason comes into the room a few seconds later, wordlessly throwing a duffle bag on the bed.

Tim pulls it onto his lap and opens it. Inside are his clothes, all scrambled up and looking like they’d been picked up and thrown in haphazardly. Tim looks up at Jason in surprise. “You went to my house?” As he shuffles around further, he finds notes for his unfinished cases laying at the bottom, as well as his tablet in one of the side pockets.

“Wow. Thanks,” he says curtly, although his thumping heart betrays the fact that he’s actually extremely touched by the act. “Ignoring the fact that hacking into my security system is kind of not good for my safety, this is actually really nice of you. How do you know where I live?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome. And we’re Robins. We know everything about each other.” He makes his way out of the room.

“We’re ex-Robins,” Tim calls after him, “and I’m pretty sure I don’t even know your middle name.”

“Knowing you, boy detective, you probably do,” Jason’s voice sings back.

“Got me there, Peter,” Tim mutters, skin flushing slightly at the words he knows weren’t meant as a compliment, but he feels himself swell up with pride anyway at Jason having said them. God, he’s sixteen all over again. He tries to distract himself, starting the mundane task of taking his clothes out and folding them.

“Oh, and, by the way,” Jason pokes his head through the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “uh, look. If it means anything, I won’t leave you alone like that again. Unless you want me to. I mean, it’s good to talk, right?”

Tim nods, his brow raised, feeling a little patronising as he does so.

“It’s a real promise,” Jason continues. “I don’t break my promises. Just so you know.”

“Okay, Jason.” Tim isn’t quite sure he believes him, but Jason seems determined to try.

“Cool.” He leaves, closing the door. The faint scent of his cologne lingers, seemingly clinging to the air.

Tim sits quietly on the bed for a while in the empty room. He doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed.

He gathers his clothes up eventually and makes his way to Jason’s wardrobe. He pushes some of Jason’s stacked shirts aside, making a small gap for his pile of clothes to fit. As he’s rearranging some of Jason’s clothes into neater piles, a photo slips out of one of his shirts. He picks it up and flips it over, and immediately freezes.

It’s him and Batman. One of Tim’s first nights on the job, it was taken as he was leaping across a rooftop, Batman beside him, leading him through it. A thrilled look on Tim’s face. There are marks, some discolouration, leaving patches all over it. It’s been ruined by some type of liquid, perhaps water, or—

Teardrops.

Tim rushes to hide the photo again, except the door is opening and Jason is walking in and he sees Tim looking at him wide-eyed with his shirt clutched in his hands, the photo slid inside clumsily.

“Sorry,” Jason says, “I didn’t mean to barge in, I just wanted to… why are you holding my shirt?”

“I was just trying to fit my clothes in your wardrobe.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Jason kneels down beside him, taking the shirt without resistance from Tim. “Did something spooky pop out of my—”

The photo falls out onto the carpet, face up.

“Oh.” Jason goes very still.

“I… I didn’t want you to know I’d seen it.”

“No… no, that’s…” Jason stares at the photo. His face is expressionless.

Tim cannot gauge his reaction. “Why did you keep it?” he whispers.

“I didn’t know I’d—I didn’t know it was still here.” He doesn’t move to pick it up.

“Why not throw it away?”

“I don’t know, I—” Jason clenches his fist. Unclenches it again. “I need a minute.”

Tim waits, then, softly asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jason’s eyes are blazing when he turns around to look at Tim. “I said I need a minute.”

“Jason,” Tim tries to reason with him, “Let me take it. I’ll put it away somewhere. You’ve kept it for long enough, it’s not doing you any good being here.”

Jason shuts his eyes, inhaling shakily. “Get out,” he says simply, voice low.

Tim feels his heart drop. “What?”

“Get out.”

He begins to panic. _No, no, no, fix it, fix it, fix it._ “You—you can’t—”

“I can,” Jason snarls, stunning Tim, before moving into his space, forcing Tim to snap out of it and back away. “I can’t—can’t do this anymore. I’ve let you stay long enough. I can’t even believe I lasted this long.”

“Wh—what do you mean?” Tim babbles, feeling like a child.

“What I _mean_ is that you’re so—so _clingy_. I let you stay here to recover and you’ve outstayed your welcome. I can barely live with myself, I can’t live with your shit too. Get out.”

Tim is stock still, eyes rooted to the floor. He feels Jason’s hands come around his arms, pulling him up onto his feet, shoving him backwards. He stumbles, falling against the door frame, backing away from Jason all the way to the front door. Jason won’t hurt him, he can’t. He won’t go back to— _Jason’s arms come around him, lifting him off the ground, pressing a jagged knife to his throat_ —back to _that_. They've come so far, _Jason_ has come so far—

“I—I’m sorry,” he stutters out, fear seizing his throat.

Jason gives him a final shove, clearing the doorway, then finally slamming the door in his face.

Tim stands there staring at the door for who knows how long. He’s rooted there in shock. He replays the last few minutes in his head, picking out what went wrong, thinking of things he could have said, instead of what he did say.

God. God. He fucked up. He _fucked up_. He fucked up and now Jason hates him. He’s lost him again. He’s lost… another part of his… his family. God. _God_. What the fuck.

***

“He keeps calling,” Damian is saying, “Insistently. He asked if you wanted hot chocolate before screaming at me to give you the phone. Idiot.”

“Where’s Alfred?”

“Busy dealing with more important things apparently.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Answer the phone, I’m sick of hearing it ring. Otherwise, I’m cutting the wires.”

“Uh, thanks, Damian.”

“Anything to get you out of this manor.”

Tim purses his lips before he can answer back. Damian’s getting sassier with age. He watches him leave, then picks the phone off its handle.

“I’m trying to do work and my mobile keeps vibrating in the drawer. And Damian actually came up to my room just to tell to me about you calling the manor. This better be good.” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the amount of times Jason called is just over-the-top. He’s like an overbearing parent or, Tim shudders, an overly possessive boyfriend.

“ _I called your mobile twice and the first time you just hung up on me. This was hours ago though. If your phone’s still vibrating you’re probably missing calls from work or something. And I only called the manor so much because no one was answering. Didn’t know it was bothering anyone. Where’s Alfred?_ ”

“Beats me.” He doesn’t open his drawer to look at his mobile. He doesn’t want Jason to be right.

Jason sighs. “ _Christ, okay, look. I’m sorry for what I did. I thought I put all that stuff behind me. I know you thought I did, too. I’ve gotten rid of the picture, if it means anything to you. Plus, I’m not used to… having family around. I’ve kind of forgotten what it’s like. I’m not used to people getting so close to me. It was kind of… suffocating. So I lashed out. I’m sorry_ ,” Jason says, his voice rough, thick with apologies.

The thing is, Tim finds he’s already forgiven him. He understands why Jason broke down like that. Good things don’t happen immediately, and they don’t last particularly long either. Jason was angry for so long, angry at the boy who replaced him, no one can expect him to suddenly get over it or keep saving face forever. Tim _gets_ it, or at least, he tries to. He doesn’t tell Jason that he’s forgiven him though, he likes hearing him grovel. “I’m staying at the manor temporarily. Until I get back in touch with the… with my friends.”

Jason huffs. “ _I’m your friend too. And the manor sucks balls, come on. You really wanna stay there with Bruce and Damian?_ ”

As if on cue, Damian’s voice travels up to his room, loud and grating. He sounds like he’s having another one of his tantrums. Tim pulls a face. “Maybe not.”

He can hear Jason’s smile as he speaks. “ _Well, grab your stuff. Let’s head back to mine in the meantime._ ”

“Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to intrude—” _I don’t want to be the cause of another one of your breakdowns_.

“ _I told you. You’re not. I promised you something and I’m gonna keep it. We’ll talk it through. You can even beat me up for what I did when we get there_.”

“I don’t want to beat you up.”

“ _Because you’re a good kid. You’re better than me._ ” The line goes quiet after that.

Damian’s footsteps thump angrily up the stairs towards Tim’s room. “ _Drake!_ ” he screeches.

“Let’s talk about this when we’re back at yours,” Tim suggests, shutting his laptop hastily and shoving it in his backpack.

“Good idea. I’ll be there in ten.”

Tim gets to the gate, and Jason pulls up on his motorcycle, the roar of the engine a welcome change from Damian and Bruce’s bickering. Tim leaves them without saying goodbye, taking the helmet that Jason passes to him. Tim throws his leg over and seats himself behind Jason.

Jason reaches back and pats Tim’s thigh twice. “Glad you came, little bird.”

“I wish I knew how to quit you,” Tim replies, making Jason snort.

“Don't fall off, birdbrain.” He kicks the bike into first gear.

Tim tentatively puts his arms around Jason’s middle as they speed down the street. He doesn’t need to, but he indulges his own little wish—Jason’s waist feels as slight as it looks. He’s only wearing a shirt, and Tim can feel the tight muscle underneath. He hopes he isn’t making it obvious that he’s practically feeling him up.

The buildings fly past in a blur, and Tim soon realises that this isn’t the way back to the safe house. They slow down after a while, coming to a stop in a narrow road decorated with brownstone buildings on each side.

“This isn’t your safe house,” Tim says quietly, taking off his helmet, looking up at the building beside them, yellowed leaves from nearby trees scratching against the walls. A man walking up the short steps to the next-door building waves at Jason, and Jason waves back.

“Yeah, it’s my apartment,” Jason says as he turns back to look at Tim, his helmet off, shaking his hair out.

“Oh.” Tim looks at the building, the street. It’s cozy. It’s cute. It’s… not what he imagined Jason’s apartment to be like. “It’s nice.”

“Much more family friendly now, isn’t it?” Jason jokes. He looks awkward, holding himself stiffly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

Tim puts a hand on his shoulder. Jason relaxes slightly. “Your safe house was pretty nice, too. With your quilts and tea sets and art magazines and stuff. It was classy.”

“I have excellent taste,” he says. “Come on, I’ll show you ‘round.”

He leads Tim up the stairs, showing Tim his living room, the kitchen, and bedrooms. It doesn’t look that much different to his safe house. Jason brings his style wherever he goes, it seems. Except… this apartment feels _lived-in_. It’s tidy, as Jason is still meticulous as ever, but it just _feels_ like a home. He can imagine Jason _living_ in various parts of the house, reading a book in the nook by the open window, lazing around in his socks. He doesn’t have the medical set-up he has at his safe house, Tim opening the fridge to find yogurts and eggs instead of IV and blood bags. Tim is glad Jason’s showing him this part of his life.

Jason looks at him in concern after the small tour, mistaking his silence for apprehensiveness. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Guess they don’t call me the crazy Robin for no reason, huh?” He lets out a short, derisive laugh, eyes looking past Tim, to the floor.

Tim ignores all the voices in his head telling him no, pushes past the nerves in his body, and lifts a hand to Jason’s arm, resting it just above his elbow. It feels awkward, it must look awkward, but he feels a small sense of accomplishment when Jason leans into the touch, his eyes going back up to meet Tim’s.

They’re standing outside one of the bedrooms—Tim’s bedroom now—and the light from outside has already grown dim. Jason’s face is cast in shadow, yet Tim can see his eyes very clearly, green flecks on blue, or blue flecks on green, he can’t tell. They’re standing close together, Jason looking down at Tim, and Tim looking up at him, and the entire apartment is silent.

“I’m okay, Jay. Really,” Tim says, his voice hushed, fearing that if he speaks any louder, the peace will become unbalanced. “I’m just… surprised you’re letting me stay with you again.”

Jason shakes his head. “I shouldn't have kicked you out. I’m a giant asshole for doing that. You’re too forgiving,” he replies, his voice even quieter.

“Well, as long as we can start again.”

Jason looks at him hopefully, his gaze softening a bit. “We’ll keep working on it. I’ll keep working on it.”

Jason reaches for Tim, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close. Tim’s heart rate speeds up, and he feels like jolts are being sent throughout his entire body. Tim feels Jason lean in, kissing the top of his head, then he’s pulling away and walking to his room.

“‘Night, Timmy,” he says over his shoulder.

Tim watches him go, his heart beating fast, his feet frozen to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason sits in the nook by the window, his knees pulled up to his chin, his head in his hands.

When he took Tim in, he didn’t think he’d end up being such an asshole to him, but he also wasn’t expecting Tim to literally pull out a painful memory from the past. Not that that excuses Jason from what he did, but it’s a reason, at least.

 _God_ , he scoffs and squeezes his temples. He really fucked up. He must have scared the kid, manhandling him like that. He must have _hurt_ him too, Jesus Christ, he’d forgotten that Tim was injured. What a great caregiver. Fucking _brilliant_. Neglecting him, freaking out on him—if he were Tim he would never have come back. Jason’s fine living with Kory and Roy because they’ve all been through similar things, similar experiences which have shaped them for the worse. If one of them freaks out, the other two know exactly how to help them cope. Tim, though… Tim’s a good kid, but he has no idea what Jason has been through, and Jason has no idea how to relate to him besides the whole ex-Robins thing. He wants to be someone Tim can trust, but it’s hard because he has no idea how to go about doing that. It’s a new experience for Jason—looking after someone. And not just in the ‘got your back’ kind of way. As in feeding them and housing them. Looking after _family_. He’s making mistakes, he knows, but he hopes that he is getting there. Little by little.

But Tim seems to forgive him so easily, mistakes, malfunctions and all. Too easily, especially taking into consideration their history. It’s strange how Tim seems able and willing to put all that behind him. Perhaps it’s his age, perhaps it’s naivety. Whatever it is, he could give Jason some pointers. Jason’s never known anyone who could forgive him after one meagre phone call with, frankly, terrible arguments as for why they should come back with him. It really is strange, unnatural even. But maybe Tim is just as awkward as Jason. They are, after all, both new to the ‘brother’ thing. Maybe they need to get more comfortable with each other before they allow themselves to start bickering and hating like real siblings.

Siblings. It warms him, knowing he has one now—one that doesn’t piss him off or who can’t look at him without _pitying_ him. Having Tim with him reminds him that he’s getting closer to having some semblance of a normal life.

Speaking of. Jason can hear Tim shuffling around in his room. He takes a moment to appreciate the noise—usually, when he’s here by himself, the building is still and silent. Even his neighbours are silent during most of the day. Tim makes so much noise—thumping around on the carpet, bumping into walls—from what Jason’s seen so far, he seems to be one of those people who take a while to compose themselves in the mornings, stubbornly caught in that phase between asleep and awake. He’s probably yawning, rubbing his half-open eyes, trying to navigate the unfamiliar room. Jason realises that a smile has grown on his lips without his own volition. The little twerp can be kind of endearing, he admits.

He shakes off the bubbly warmth threatening to escape in a quiet laugh, then goes into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Tim comes out a few minutes later, coming to stand beside Jason, watching him cook. He’s yawning, rubbing his eyes with one arm and stretching the other, and Jason can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips now. He flips a pancake when he knows Tim is looking, chuckling again when Tim perks up and stands closer to him.

“You don’t know how to flip a pancake or something, kid?” Jason asks.

“I do. It’s just better when you do it,” Tim states indignantly. He seems to realise his words, looking embarrassed after. “I mean, you’re better at cooking.” He hurriedly moves away from Jason and sits himself at the table.

Like he said. Endearing.

He cooks up a stack, switching off the stove and slipping them onto plates for both of them, pouring maple syrup all over. Tim retrieves mixed berries from the fridge.

As Tim is standing beside Jason’s chair, heaping berries onto Jason’s plate for him, Jason’s phone beeps. He unlocks it, opening the message without checking to see who it is. He feels Tim tense up beside him, spilling berries onto the floor.

Jason looks at his phone. It’s a photo message from Kory again. It’s a selfie of her blowing a kiss towards the camera.

 _Thinking about you_ , is the text message that comes a few seconds later.

He locks his phone quickly before Tim can see any more. He’ll reply later.

Tim clears his throat behind him, picking up the fallen berries and washing them under the tap. He sits opposite Jason, finally digging into his food. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, then puts his elbow up into the table, resting his forehead on his hand, eating with the other.

Jason excuses his bad table manners, more concerned about _him_ at the moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He can feel the tension in the air, it’s so heavy it’s weighing down on Jason’s hopes that the day would pass without another argument.

“Nothing,” Tim says, cutting through his stack of pancakes and shoving it into his mouth.

Tim has been so much more open lately. Instead of covering up his emotions with a faux smile or a charming laugh he actually allows them to come through, and he’s surprisingly easy to read. The sudden cracking of his mask may be because of the recent cracking of his ribs though, too strung out to try gathering the effort to put on one of his facades. Or maybe, Jason hopes, he’s gotten comfortable around him and doesn’t feel the need to hide.

Maybe he has a crush on Koriand’r. Jason wouldn’t be surprised. It would certainly explain the angry cloud passed over his face.

Tim takes another huge bite out of his pancakes, chewing ferociously.

“Too much comfort food and you’ll start getting pudgy around the belt,” Jason says, prodding his fork at him, mouth full of food.

“You said you wanted me to eat more,” Tim protests. “And you’re the one who put this on my plate!”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Don’t change the subject.”

Tim exhales harshly.

Jason smirks, cheeks round, pancake falling out of his mouth back onto his plate. “What’s wrong, baby bro?”

The corner of Tim’s eye twitches. “Don’t call me that.”

A slight panic starts off in his chest. He looks at Tim’s hands, fingers clenched around his knife and fork, focuses on the the empty look in his eyes. What has he done? “I’m sorry,” he tries, still in his seat. “I won’t call you that again,” he says, words tumbling out quickly, trying to patch up whatever sores he’s opened up.

Tim’s nose turns up, and he meets Jason’s eye. “I’m not hungry,” he suddenly states, pushing his chair back and going back to his room.

Jason sits there staring after him, wide-eyed and not completely comprehending where he went wrong. Was it the pudgy thing? The talking with his mouth full? The baby bro comment? (He mourns the loss of that last one.) It takes a minute before he realises he should be directing all these questions at Tim, and even then he hesitantly knocks on his door, waiting for a reply and feeling like a goddamned _parent_.

“Tim? You’ve gotta eat, man,” he says through the door when Tim doesn’t reply.

Silence.

“Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Pudge is cute, y’know? I wasn’t trying to be _mean_. I didn’t mean to put you off eating. Eating’s great.”

Still, silence.

Jason tries once more. “Please come out and eat. I cooked it for you, and you need your strength.”

Tim doesn’t reply. He doesn’t make a noise.

Jason leaves, feeling guilt settling in his gut. He skips the rest of his breakfast, having lost his appetite.

***

Tim comes out at around two o’ clock, his head slightly hung. He comes up to Jason, who’s sitting by the window again, cradling a book. Jason looks up at him, apologies tumbling out his mouth.

“I’m over it,” Tim says, when he’s finally done, but he doesn’t look over it. He’s wearing a deep scowl, his arms crossed, his feet wide apart, standing visibly uncomfortably in that way he loves so much. But much to Jason’s relief, he doesn’t look as angry as he could be.

“Okay…” Jason adjusts his legs casually. “But something’s telling me you’re still angry with me. Tell me what you want, I can’t read your mind, dude.”

Tim shakes his head dismissively. “God, nothing. I don’t know. I’ve just been… a little off lately. It’s nothing.”

“You hid in your room and refused to eat, that isn’t ‘a little off’. You’re pissed at something. Come on, what were you angry about?”

Tim sighs, then meets Jason’s eyes with a glare. “It was nothing, it was a misunderstanding. My ribs have just been bugging me recently, it’s affecting my mood.” He holds Jason’s gaze for too long.

Jason frowns. “Right. Well, you wanna eat the rest of your food now or what?”

“It’s done. Look, I think I’m gonna head back to the bedroom and finish off some work, I’ve been getting a lot of calls and emails from work that I’ve been putting off answering, plus I think I have an unfinished case or two that I need to get back to—”

“You’re rambling. Stop. If you’ve been putting off work for this, why not just put it off for a couple more hours? Also, bring your case files out, I want a look. Cases are fun, we’ll do one together. Okay? Cool?” He waits for Tim to nod. “Cool. So what are you so jittery about?”

“You didn’t eat your food. It’s still there on the table.”

“Yeah, well, I was worried about you,” Jason says, taking the honest route. “I’ll finish it later.”

He thinks he sees Tim’s eyes soften. He feels like he’s winning him over.

“Grab a book,” Jason tells him, jerking his head towards the bookshelf. “Sit here, we’ll have some family reading time.”

Tim’s lips twist a little, but then he goes and grabs a book off the shelf—a random one, Jason notes that he isn’t even looking at what he’s chosen. He’s humouring Jason. Jason’s fine with that, especially as Tim comes to sit opposite him on the nook, leaning with his back against the window pane, his knees pulled up to his chest. Jason imitates the position, and the nook is long enough that their feet don’t touch. It’ll probably get uncomfortable soon, but he’s unwilling to give up his spot. He shoves his nose back into the Vonnegut book he’s read three times before, hoping Tim does the same. It’d be nice if Tim learnt to slow down now and then, put his time into a good book instead of into work.

Jason is pulled out of his book a few hours into the afternoon when Tim clears his throat and says, “Hey, it’s getting dark out.”

Jason looks up, blinking away the pages of the world he’d slipped into, and finding his way back to the present. The light outside has grown dim, a reddish-orange glowing over the tops of the buildings opposite, reflecting in their windows, and Jason can just feel Gotham’s finest and ugliest stirring, ready to wreak havoc on the city as soon as the sun sets. This is just about the time he’d be heading to another safe house to change and head out for the night. But because Tim is here, he doesn’t feel as tempted to go out. In fact, he’d almost say that the feeling just isn’t there at all. But that would be blasphemy.

“I’ve got a question,” Tim says. He’s got his finger on a page halfway through the novel, but Jason knows he hasn’t really been reading any of it. Pity. _House of Leaves_ is an excellent book.

He’s sitting with his legs twisted up with Tim’s, his feet warm under Tim’s thighs. He looks at Tim over his book. “Shoot.”

“What exactly is your relationship with Starfire?”

Jason shifts, pulling his legs away, putting his book in his lap. “We’re friends. Allies.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“What, no benefits?”

Jason frowns. Tim’s expression doesn’t look anything close to harbouring a shit-eating grin but that doesn’t mean he’s not being a little shit. “That’s a bit intrusive, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t mean to offend.”

Jason stares at him, giving in when he remembers he’s made the day pretty shitty for him. He seems sincere enough anyway. His fingers tap mindlessly against the book cover as he ponders how best to answer. “We fuck.”

“Ah.” Tim presses his lips together slightly. Jason gives him credits for hiding his shock. “So is Arsenal like a third wheel?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too nosy?” Jason says dismissively, picking his book back up and continuing where he left off.

Tim’s voice turns imploring. “You promised you’d be _straight_ with me.“

Jason doesn’t look up. “Don’t be a child. Also bad choice of words.“

“What do you mean?“

Jason rolls his eyes. He looks Tim straight in the eyes when he says, “We fuck Arsenal too.”

Tim sputters. “What?”

“Not everything has to be a love triangle, Timothy. Healthy polyamorous relationships do exist, you know.”

“O—oh.”

Jason raises his brows, nodding once patronisingly. “Yeah, oh.”

“I mean, I do know that they do exist, but it’s not too often I hear about it, you know. I mean, usually it’s like old people—swingers, you know. Like married couples. But you’re so young, like too young almost. Aren’t you the youngest out of them? Not that it’s relevant. Just… so does that mean you’re bi?”

Jason shrugs, biting his tongue to prevent himself from laughing at Tim’s rambling. “Whatever. I’ve never really bothered to define myself. Labels are for soup cans, blah, blah, blah. I fuck who I fuck, I don’t care much for anything else.” Tim nods sincerely and Jason snorts. “What about you, short stack?”

“I’m not sure. I’m attracted to girls, I know that. But guys? I don’t know. I feel like I could… but… Like, there _are_ times…” His eyes narrow, his brows are drawn down over them, and his mouth tenses into a tight line. Jason can imagine tiny gears in his head working overtime and crumpling his face internally. “Well, I’ve never been attracted to… guys. Except, I had this one friend, and sometimes I thought the stuff we did bordered on the edge of romantic, but I’m not really sure…”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta _go_ with it,” Jason says, waving his hand in the air. “You feel what you feel. No point _repressing_ it just ‘cause you think someone’s gonna disapprove.”

Tim furrows his brow. “You mean Bruce? Has he…?”

Jason snorts. “You don’t know? Bruce is definitely not a prejudiced bastard. What do you think he, Clark, and Diana do in their free time?”

Tim almost gasps, his eyes widening in shock. “No!”

Jason laughs, slapping his thighs. He feels like he’s just dropped the biggest bombshell of the superhero world.

“Jason, what? Tell me—are you telling the truth?” His eyes are the widest Jason’s ever seen them get.

Jason wipes his eyes. “No can do. You should’ve seen your face. I should’ve gotten a picture.” His laughs die down into giggles. “You’re the detective, Tim. Find out for yourself.”

“There are some things that are better off a mystery.”

“You’re a wise man, Timothy,” Jason says solemnly, raising the novel to his face again. “A wise man.”

***

Later that night, Jason walks out to the small liquor store a few streets away. He’s on a mission. Tim had avoided Jason’s offers of beer and after much probing, confessed that he’d never had a drink in his life. Blasphemy. Jason had his first drink when he was thirteen. Sure, it’s illegal, but vigilantism is illegal. Which is the worse offence?

He grabs some tequila and a pack of Cruisers, in case Tim is into that sort of thing. He seems like a lightweight.

After paying, he steps out into the cool night air, and is immediately blindsided by a hard blue and black blur who pulls him up onto an apartment rooftop. Pleasant.

“Well, _hello_ , asshole,” Jason sings sweetly when Dick lets go of him. His stomach is turning and flipping in his gut, and he’s not going to deny that when he swings and leaps across buildings on his own, it’s nothing compared to what Dick does, what it feels like traversing Gotham beside him. When he flies with Dick Grayson, he really _flies_. It’s kind of beautiful, really. “Did daddy send you here to piss me off some more?”

Dick grimaces. “No, I came here to tell you I’ve apologised, and to check on you. And Tim. And don’t call him daddy please,” he pleads, his voice winded. Jason wonders what he was doing before he came to hassle him.

“Okay, Dickie.” Jason crosses his arms. “Where’s your apology?”

Dick mimics his pose. “I’ve already apologised to Tim.”

Damn. Jason was hoping he’d get to witness Dick grovelling at his feet. He relaxes from his tough-guy stance, too tired to really start anything with the older Robin.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, Bruce is wondering why he left so quickly.” Dick walks in a slow, deliberate circle around him, like he’s sizing Jason up. Oh boy, he hopes Dick isn’t intending on fighting him right now. He doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to think of enough hateful things about him to get all riled up. And wow, Jason’s getting old if he isn’t actively finding reasons to land one on Dick’s pretty face.

“What can I say? The kid loves me,” he says smugly, figuring that verbal punches are as good as physical ones.

Dick makes a curious little noise in his throat. “The kid loves me, too.”

“Are you jealous?” Jason asks incredulously. He didn’t think that one would actually land.

“No,” Dick says. “Just concerned.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Concerned, concerned. Everyone’s just concerned. Why can’t you all take a step back and learn to relax or something?”

“Says the one who called the manor fifty times trying to find Tim!”

“Hey, his ribs still haven’t healed, y’know. I had every right to be concerned.” Jason scoffs, muttering, “Fifty times.”

Dick doesn’t answer, regarding him for a second. Jason can feel his eyes roaming all over him, hidden behind his mask. “It’s good to see you, Jason,” he says finally, the corner of his lips quirking up into a small crooked smile.

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Well, I’m glad we’re on talking terms, at least.”

“You could’ve just said ‘Good to see you, too.’ No need to act like you haven’t missed me.” Dick chuckles softly, the sound carried over by the wind, reaching Jason’s ears. He can’t stop his cheeks from warming. Dick always was the charming kind.

Dick steps forward and embraces Jason in a one-armed hug. His body’s gotten thicker, harder, since the last time they hugged. Jason can’t even remember when that was. Jason pats his back hesitantly. He feels like an awkward fifteen-year-old again, harbouring a slight crush on his predecessor. And maybe that’s the last time they hugged—when Jason was new to Robin and Dick was still a wiry teenage boy. Dick flashes him another winning smile when they part, and Jason is struck with a sudden nostalgia, a low throb of pain in his chest.

Suddenly, the paper bag Jason is holding is snatched out of his hand. He starts to protest, but Dick hushes him and dances out of his reach.

“Who’re these for?” Dick asks, digging out the the Cruisers and holding them up.

“Me,” Jason lies, using Dick’s own tactics against him and flashing him a charming smile.

Dick looks unimpressed. “Tim is only eighteen.”

“An adult.”

“A baby.”

“Please, he hates that.”

Dick tilts his head. “I call him baby bro and I’ve received no complaints.”

Jason’s smile fades. “Guess you’re more loved after all.”

Dick looks confused for a moment, but a smirk comes down over his expression, masking whatever it was he was thinking. “Don’t worry,” he says, patting Jason’s shoulder, “maybe you’ll win Damian’s favour.”

Jason snorts, peeling Dick’s hand off. “You can keep that one.”

“Fine with me,” he says, turning towards the edge of the rooftop. The wind picks up when he’s standing at the edge, whipping his hair everywhere. “I’m keeping these too,” he yells without turning around, holding up the Cruisers.

“Timmy’ll be sad.”

Dick stills suddenly, one foot up on the ledge. The strands of his hair are the only parts of his body moving.

Dick turns to look at him over his shoulder. Jason’s eyes snap back up. “Look after him, alright?”

Jason wonders at his hardened tone. “Yeah, of course.”

Dick’s head bows a little, his face looking pained. He leaps off the building.

Jason takes the stairs.

***

Tim doesn’t stop staring. It’s _unnerving_.

He’s drunk on beer and the tequila Jason had hidden under his jacket while Dick was prancing around being annoying. He was always so easy to swindle.

Jason is starting to regret getting the Tim drunk. He’s got his back facing Tim, resting against the couch, but he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, unmoving. Probably unblinking, the creepy fuck. He feels like a hole is being bored into the back of his head. He’s trying to watch King Kong in peace, but he can’t understand a word—Tim’s got him in hyperaware mode. At any moment, Jason’s going to snap—

“Your hair.”

Jason stills, furrowing his brow. On TV, King Kong is completely destroying a T-Rex. “What?”

“Your hair,” Tim says again, more insistently this time.

“What about it?”

“Can I touch it?”

Jason spends a full minute weighing the pros and cons of that request. Fuck it, Tim probably won’t remember anyway. “Okay.”

Suddenly, fingers are in Jason’s hair, playing with it and tugging on it. Jason tenses up, Tim’s actions toeing the line between uncomfortable and enjoyable. Tim strokes his fingers from Jason’s fringe towards the back. Jason sighs contentedly, deciding he enjoys the feeling.

He hears Tim sniff. “Sometimes I look at you and I just feel… really, really angry,” Tim says, tugging on the white streak in Jason’s hair.

“Thanks. That’s great to know.” He flicks Tim’s fingers away from the streak. They go back to stroking the rest of his hair.

“It’s not uncalled for, you know. You did try to kill me.”

Jason sighs roughly. He turns to face Tim, keeping his hair away from Tim’s wandering fingers. “I really do not need to hear this now—you’re _drunk_ , Tim, and I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“ _When_ do you want to hear it Jason?” Tim snaps indignantly. His eyes are glassy and wide, and Jason is slightly taken aback. “Why is it always when _you_ wanna hear it? What about me? Don’t I ever get to decide anything?” His voice quivers with tears.

Jason can’t believe this. Tim’s a touchy drunk _and_ a _touchy_ drunk. “Goddamn. I think you should go to sleep. Do you needa vomit? I’ll hold your hair.”

“Oh, _piss off_. Stop babying me. I’m not your baby brother. What kind of person tries to kill their baby brother anyway?” Tim doesn’t let Jason answer. “A psychopath, that’s who. A good-for-nothing crazy psychopath. Couldn’t even do that though. Couldn’t even kill me.”

Jason’s heard enough. He makes to pick Tim off the couch, but Tim recoils away, albeit with a little delay.

“Don’t stick your fingers down my throat!” he exclaims. “I’ve thought about it and I don’t want it.”

Jason would laugh if this were any other time. As it is though, Tim’s words have struck a chord.

“I’m carrying you to bed, Tim. Also, if this is how you’re gonna be, you’re not getting any more alcohol ever again.”

Tim continues on his drunken rambling. “Good! I don’t like your stupid alcohol. Killed my boner.”

“Wow. That's _enough_ , I don’t want to hear about it,” Jason says.

Tim glares, almost like he’s offended at the thought of Jason not wanting to hear about his penis. “What do you wanna hear? Huh? Hey everyone, let’s see what Jason wants to hear today, let’s tend to Jason’s needs again, blah, blah, blah—”

“You’ve no idea what I’ve done for you, you ungrateful brat,” Jason snarls, his patience run thin.

Tim freezes, looking wide-eyed at Jason. For a second, Jason thinks he’s been shocked into sobriety. Then Tim recovers, snorting dismissively. “ _Whatever_. I’ll be out of your hair by the morning.” He turns over on the couch, facing away from Jason, pulling his jacket over himself like a blanket.

Jason doesn’t know if anything he could say would make it better, might allow them to end the night on better terms. So he just leaves it, leaves the room, and tries to sleep.

***

“You still wanna leave?” Jason asks him in the morning. He hasn’t had any sleep. He’s been thinking about all the things he was thinking about yesterday morning. When? When are they gonna be okay? When are they going to stop arguing about petty things like this? They argue, make up, argue, make up—it’s an endless circle and Jason’s not sure how much more of it he can take. He can predict what’s about to happen—Tim will forgive him, Jason will forgive Tim, they’ll get along for a while, and then Jason will fuck up again and restart the cycle.

Tim rubs his eyes sleepily, looking up at him from the couch. He takes a moment to collect himself, then, when the moment of recollection hits him, he suddenly shuts his eyes and groans. “I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t mean all the crap I said last night.”

And though he predicted it, Jason can’t help but feel relieved again anyway. There’s that sense of something incomplete, something in him screaming _Don’t forgive me, it’s not what should be done_ , but he can’t bring himself to say something he can’t deal with. Not today. He settles with, “Me neither. It’s already forgotten anyway.” He plops down beside Tim, putting an arm around him. “However, I don’t think you should drink. Ever again.”

“Me too.” Tim groans again, squeezing his eyes shut. He leans into Jason’s touch. “I feel terrible.”

“It happens. You’re a lightweight.” His fingers stroke through the hair at the base of Tim’s neck absentmindedly.

“I should never have listened to you,” Tim whines. “Alcohol is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Now you're being dramatic.” Jason can feel his heavy eyelids threatening to close. He can hardly hold up his own arm. He lets it drop onto Tim's shoulders. The throbbing pressure in his head is also dangerously close to exploding into a crushing headache. If he doesn’t lie down soon, he’s probably going to want to die.

Tim rolls his eyes. “By the way, thanks for—”

“Tim,” he says softly. Maybe he could ask Tim to carry him to his room.

“Yeah?” Tim leans in, smiling mischievously. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me touch your hair. It’s nice and soft.”

Jason hoped he would’ve forgotten that part of the night. He pulls his arm away, getting off the couch. “Listen, I’m gonna nap for a bit. I also have a hangover I need to sleep off. Yell if you need me.”

Tim nods. There’s a strange look in his eyes that Jason’s too out of it to try and comprehend. He makes his way to his room and throws himself on the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

***

“Wake up!”

“What the hell do you want?” Jason growls, not taking too kindly to being woken so rudely. He bats away the hand pushing at his back, hiding his face deeper in the pillow he’s clutching in his arms.

“Bruce is here.”

Jason’s eyes flash open. “Is there no rest for the wicked?”

“Just get up, Jason,” Tim says, though Jason can hear the amusement in his voice. “I don’t wanna have to deal with him alone.”

“Whoa,” Jason says, genuinely surprised, as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on his clothes, “golden boy don’t like daddy as much as he used to?”

“You’ve lived with him. You know how difficult it can be.”

“Really. ‘Cause out of all of us, you’re the most like him.”

Tim’s features shut down, the openness on his face wiped off and replaced with Timothy Drake-Wayne, true fucking heir to Bruce Wayne.

“ _Really?_ Come on. I just woke up, you’ve gotta excuse me for that one.” No response. Jason hears something frying in the kitchen. “We’re talking about this later.” He saunters over to the front door, opening it, but not before plastering on a fake-ass smirk. “Hello, Brucie. What can I do you for?”

Bruce steps in without invitation, eyes subtly scanning the room while that stupid phoney high-class smile stays stuck on his face. It’s downright fucking disturbing.

Jason shuts the door behind him, smirk dropping as soon as Bruce drops his smile.

“Tim left the manor abruptly.”

“Mm-hm.” Jason nods, chipper. “You should go ask him why that is.” He follows the hulking frame of Bruce Wayne over to the kitchen, where Tim is sliding sizzling bacon off a pan onto a plate.

“Breakfast,” Tim announces, and Jason sees that he’s laid down only two plates. Not subtle at all.

As Tim and Jason sit down to eat, Bruce stays standing, clearing his throat. “Tim—”

“Bruce,” Tim says, offering a smile. “Didn't see you there.” Jason chokes. Jesus, he thought the boy had a little more grace than this. Isn’t that what rich people are taught when they’re babies? How to take someone down with words, passive-aggressiveness and all that shit?

Apparently not, as the next thing Tim does is turn his back on Bruce and sit down, shoveling bacon into his mouth.

Okay, then. Guess Jason’s handling this on his own.

“Bruce, it’s nice seeing you here, but it’s kind of an inconvenient time.”

Bruce’s face doesn’t betray the annoyance Jason knows he’s feeling. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Also I’ve never told you about this apartment, so how you got here is a surprise to me.” He’s _so_ going to have to scour his home and bike for bugs again.

“It’s a nice apartment,” Bruce says, attempting to change the subject. Jesus, do neither of them have any _tact?_

“Bruce, I appreciate you coming here to check on me, but I’m doing just fine. We’re doing just fine,” Tim says, finally meeting Bruce’s eye.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Jason shifts his food around on his plate awkwardly. There’s a strong feeling of suspense in the air—how it got there, Jason has no idea. Finally, Bruce breaks away and looks at Jason instead. “I’m glad to hear it, then. Take care.” He turns to leave.

“Say hi to Diana and Clark for us,” Jason says, because he loves being a little shit.

Bruce stills, looking back at Jason. His expression is impossible to gauge. Wordlessly, he walks out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Tim looks at Jason, and Jason meets his eye. For a brief moment, a humoured look crosses Tim’s face, tugging at the corner of his lips, however, it’s swept underneath his blank expression again as soon as he registers it.

Jason leans in, smiling crookedly. “It’s okay to laugh, squirt.”

Tim smiles, wistfully. “Maybe I am more like him than I thought.”

“No, you’re not. As far as I know, you’re not having secret kinky relations with an alien and an Amazonian.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I meant with the whole… _emotions_ thing.”

“You’re nothing like him. I didn’t mean that. Bruce keeps it all in and rarely ever lets it out. You, on the other hand, are quite open with yours.”

Tim looks up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I can read you pretty well,” Jason states matter-of-factly. He crosses his fingers behind his head and leans back. He would kick his legs up onto the table too if there weren’t food on it.

“You can?”

“Yeah. You don’t cover it up as much as you used to.”

“Oh.”

“It’s refreshing having someone who doesn’t try to hide everything from you.”

“Yeah.”

Jason smiles. “Hey, I’m glad we had this talk, Timmy.” He’s well aware of the fact that he’s being kind of weird. He still feels woozy from his lack of sleep. It’s already one in the afternoon though, so he can’t go back to sleep now. He doesn’t want to mess up his sleeping pattern and become nocturnal like a damn bat.

Tim smiles back at him. “Yeah, me too.” Jason’s pretty sure he’s humouring him.

When they’ve finished, Jason takes their plates and washes them in the sink. He starts swaying a little bit on his feet, his body threatening to fall over, until Tim steadies him and takes over. Jason’s really getting old—he can barely survive on two hours of sleep, when he used to persevere for days without it. It’s okay though, because Tim’s here and he’s laughing at him as he sets Jason down on the couch, giving him the book he was reading the other day. Tim sits down next to him, patting his thigh lightly, and opens his own up to the page he last left off.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in comfortable silence.


	4. Chapter 4

They spent an afternoon in awkward silence.

Jason kept closing his eyes while he was reading, and Tim was sure he actually slipped into unconsciousness a few times. He looked peaceful, and rather silly even, the few moments he shut his eyes. His head tilting back, his face turning slack and gormless. The muted sunlight through the windows cast a warm glow on his skin.

Whenever Jason wasn’t fighting sleep, their eyes kept meeting over the edges of their books, Tim looking away as soon as he was caught. Jason never said anything though, he just carried on reading. Tim held himself stiffly on the couch, wishing time would go by faster. After what Jason said, about Tim letting his guard down and Jason being able to read him—it put Tim on edge. How much has he given away? Has he been obvious with his… with whatever _this_ is? He didn’t realise that he’d been letting so much slip through.

But what is ‘this’? The question keeps nagging at him. An attraction, definitely. A crush… he refuses to even utter the word. Lust? Well… there’s that too.

There’s no denying the way he catches himself looking at Jason, entranced by the skin at his neck, the delicate hairs of his nape. There’s no denying the way his skin warms when Jason smiles, the dimples in his cheeks showing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And there’s no denying the way he keeps coming back to him, even after he’s been hurt.

But if he’s as fantastic at reading Tim like he says he is, why hasn’t he brought _it_ up? The elephant in the room? Perhaps he isn’t as skilled at understanding emotions as he thinks.

Tim doesn’t even have any reason to still be here—his ribs have almost completely healed. Any other person would think it odd that someone would stay so long for any reason other than… Well. Does Jason think Tim wants a roommate? Someone to bunk with through the lonely nights? Possibly. But Tim has his pick of several other people, and he doesn’t know if Jason is aware of that or not. But there’s no real way Tim can just tell him the real reason without completely embarrassing himself, or worse—scaring him away.

One wrong move and Jason will shut down and back off completely, and Tim will have to deal with Jason possibly never talking to him again, avoiding him completely, and changing the security in his safehouses. He knows this. As his frustration comes to a head, he decides to contact someone that he can vent to. No, no, not to ask for advice. To vent.

He unfolds his legs and removes himself from the couch quietly, careful not to wake Jason who’s been sleeping for an hour now, and gets on his laptop.

_I’m in a dilemma._

***

“This is the worst possible thing you could have ever done.”

Tim shrinks into himself slightly, his shoulders hunching over. “Is it really?”

“Yes,” Steph says, sure and reprimanding. Cass’ serious expression next to hers makes the situation twice as terrifying. “Inviting your boyfriend out to meet your ex doesn’t sound bad to you? If I’d known the person causing you all this ‘psychic pain’ or whatever was your _crush_ , I wouldn’t have come.”

“He isn’t my boy—I said ‘physical pain’ not ‘psychic pain’.”

“Physical pain? Timothy, you’re thirteen years old again. All this longing is too cheesy vampire novella for me. When you said, ‘I’m in physical pain,’ I thought they were actually hurting you.”

“I mean, it’s a bit more complicated than that—”

“Save it for the judge, Timothy.”

Tim purses his lips, then looks out into the crowd. It’s a cold night out at the plaza; bundled-up couples walk by with their gloved fingers entwined, their misty breath puffing gently out into the air. Tim’s skin grows hot around his cheeks and ears, embarrassed at being reprimanded by Steph in front of Cass, and shamed for knowing that she’s possibly right, that this might not be such a great idea after all.

“I knew it,” Steph says quietly, and when Tim looks back at her she’s wearing a wide knowing smile. “It’s the same person… You were being so defensive of that safe house. What’s so bad about him that you need my help?”

Tim keeps quiet.

“I might need a little info in exchange for the divulgence of my unique skills,” Steph prompts him.

“Fine. He’s the most oblivious piece of crap in the universe and he doesn’t get all the signs I’m throwing his way.”

Steph huffs. “Easy. Just straight up tell him.”

Tim makes a face. “That’s terrible advice.”

“I’ll give you the real advice when you tell me his name.”

“Fine. Jason.”

“Okay,” she slowly nods. “Just straight up tell him.”

Tim grimaces.

“You wanted the advice.” Steph steps in front of him and takes his hands in hers, squeezing them comfortingly. “Look, tonight won’t be all bad. At least this way, I get to meet him, Cass gets to meet him, he gets to meet us, we all get to check each other out, everybody’s happy!”

Cass beams happily beside her.

Tim squints at Steph. “Oh no. You just wanna check him out.”

Steph completely ignores Tim’s accusation, pulling her phone out of her pocket and pretending to be engrossed in her lock screen. Very mature.

“I’m just going to assume _your_ intentions are good,” Tim says, turning to Cass. Her expression morphs back into one of complete sincerity.

“They are,” she replies.

“Great.”

Cass gives him another smile, which Tim returns. It’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s on the receiving end of one of Cass’ smiles.

He looks out into the flock of people circling the plaza again. He feels Steph wrap her arm around his. Jason is fifteen minutes late. He had told Tim that he had business to attend to late in the afternoon, but that he’d be free later on in the night. Tim had thought it sweet that he was even open to hanging out with Tim in the first place. He conveniently forgot to tell Jason that he’d invited Steph and Cass as well, but Tim figures what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Jason could use the interaction. Maybe work on his social skills.

_“Isn’t it lame having me around when you could be with your friends?”_

_“Not very lame. Come on, it’s at Gotham Plaza.”_

_“Haven’t been there in years. Guess I’m down.”_

There had been something there in Jason’s eyes when he said it. Nostalgia, maybe? When was the last time Jason hung around Gotham for casual reasons? Tim doesn’t know. All he knows is that maybe he’s doing him a favour by inviting him out. Maybe he’s letting him relive a _nice_ memory of his childhood in Gotham. He has no idea what Jason did when he was younger, aside from being Robin. Christ. Tim doesn’t know about his past at all. Maybe he has horrible memories of Gotham Plaza. Maybe Tim’s doing him a great disservice and he’s going to have a terrible time and Tim is going to regret ever thinking of inviting them all out tonight. Oh God.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says aloud. A cool wind passes through the plaza and sends shivers down his spine.

They are standing by a small Italian restaurant. The smell of pasta wafts out to them, the lights inside are warm and inviting, seducing Tim inside and away from the harsh, cold Gotham night.

Steph senses his intentions and tightens her grip around his arm. “Oh, quit your moaning. Forget what I said earlier. This’ll be good for you.”

“How in the world is this any good for me? For any of us?” Tim’s face crumples under the weight of his realisations. “Oh god, why did I invite him out? Why did I invite _you_ out?”

“Holy shit.”

Tim snaps out of his misery as he proceeds to scan the crowd for any sign of disturbance. “What? What?”

“Is that him?” Steph whispers, her eyes wide.

“Huh?” Tim asks eloquently, following her stare.

Once he spots him, he wonders how he ever missed him. Jason towers over most people in the plaza, and his chiselled jawline and sculpted cheekbones don’t do much to not make him stand out from the crowd. As he draws closer, Tim sees that his hair looks as if it’s been gelled and combed but blown awry by the wind, and he giggles a little at the thought of Jason standing in front of a mirror _preening_. He tears his eyes away from Jason’s face, down to the wooden scarf billowing around his neck, the fitting black overcoat that seems to catch his eye even against a writhing sea of black coats, and—he stills as Jason reaches into his pocket and slides on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. Holy shit indeed.

“Is your inner nerd creaming itself?” Steph whispers teasingly. She cries out as Tim nudges her in the ribs.

Tim puts on a smile as Jason comes to a stop in front of them. Jason’s looking at Steph who is grimacing and rubbing her side.

“You alright?” he asks bemusedly.

“Completely fine,” she replies, straightening up. She looks at Tim. “You gonna introduce us to your sweetheart, Timothy?”

Tim’s eyes widen. His cheeks redden. He feels instant regret for every wrong he has committed against her. “Uh… he’s not—”

Jason snorts, seemingly unaffected by the pet name that has just been dumped unceremoniously on him. He extends a hand. “I’m Jason. Nice to meet you…?”

As pleasantries are exchanged and introductions are carried out, his thoughts drift off momentarily, blurring the world until all he hears is the soft buzz of Jason’s deep timbre. It fills Tim’s ears in a pleasant way, sending soft tingles down his spine. He wants to see the source of the sound, so he looks up at Jason’s lips, watches them move and push the noises from his mouth, watches them pull up into small smiles every now and then. Tim wants to see them reach his eyes, so he focuses on his eyes now, the corner crinkles, the excited widening, the way they catch the light.

It’s only when he turns to Tim with something of a glare on his face, out of nowhere, that Tim is shocked enough to come back into the conversation.

“A little,” Cass is replying to something Jason said, her voice subdued. Tim shrugs at Jason as an apology for staring before he turns his attention to Cass. Her eyes are sharp and her lips are pressed tightly together, and it’s an expression that Tim has seen whenever she meets someone new. She is judging Jason, sizing him up, he can tell. Come to think of it, he isn’t entirely sure if Cass knows Jason, or if Jason knows her. There haven’t been any situations in which the two could have met. He begins to worry about her reaction to finding out Jason’s violent past. He knows how she feels about killers.

“Cute,” Jason says. Tim’s lips twitch in annoyance. He mistakes her quiet for shyness. A lot of people do.

“What about me?” Steph asks, stepping towards him.

“You’re adorable,” he says with a charming smile, his tall frame leaning in.

Tim watches the two, their faces close, Jason hunched and Steph almost on her toes, and wonders if that’s what he and Jason look like when they’re together. He and Steph are about the same height—does he really look that small around him?

Steph grins back, then turns away, brows jumping up and down. “He’s great, Tim. A real charmer, right?”

“Uh…” Tim feels his face grow red. He must look like a beacon in the dark night.

It doesn’t help at all when Jason looks almost annoyed by his non-answer. “A charmer? I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that,” he says.

“That can’t be true. Honestly, you look like a model, I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me that people fall at your feet.” She reaches out to play with the end of Jason’s scarf. “I mean, especially with the glasses. Tim loves glasses, d’you see how red his cheeks are?”

Tim groans loudly in his head. He then groans out loud when she makes a crude joke about the colour of Tim’s cheeks matching his… cheeks after a spanking.

Jason looks down at Steph like he doesn’t know what to make of her. Tim knows the feeling.

“Never tried it?” she asks.

“Have you?” he asks.

“Guys, can we go get food now or what?” Tim interrupts loudly.

Jason gestures for him to lead, then turns to Steph again. Tim listens to the start of another crude joke about his cheeks before he tunes them out.

He wonders what Jason’s playing at.

Cass gives his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Let’s get food.”

Tim leads them towards the pizza shop, all the while doing his best to block out the conversation behind him. Once they’re inside, they pick a booth in the corner, Tim ordering for all four of them because Jason and Steph are too busy talking and Cass’ favourite pizzas are the entire menu. He ends up ordering two large pepperonis and milkshakes. Jason and Steph have moved from the subject of Tim to places they hung out at in the Narrows. It turns out they share similar childhoods, and were even born in the same neighbourhood. It’s an interesting conversation, and Tim is glad they seem to be getting along. Cass is oddly silent though, moreso than usual.

“Isn’t this the cutest double date to ever happen in history!” Steph exclaims when they’re halfway through the pizzas.

“Double date?” Tim quirks a brow.

“Yeah! You and Jason, me and Cass. Just a bunch of young, beautiful people ready to paint the town red!”

Tim can’t tell if she’s joking. He looks to Jason for a reaction, but Jason is leaning over the table, gesturing Tim towards him, like he’s about to tell him a big secret. Tim leans forward, and Jason says, “No need to fret, sweetie, but keep frowning like that and you’ll age faster,” while squeezing his hand over the table.

Steph laughs, trying to hide her loud snorts behind her hands. Jason laughs at her, hearty and genuine. Tim doesn’t think he’s heard that laugh before. He can’t help the feeling of jealousy from rearing its ugly head and tugging on his gut. Adding to that, being embarrassed by Jason, being the butt of his jokes—he doesn’t like this side of him at all. He snatches his hand away from Jason’s, trying to hide the battle of emotions that he knows is playing out on his face. It’s a double whammy.

When he finally looks up it’s at Cass. She has a peculiar look on her face. Tim follows her gaze and realises she’s staring at Jason. Tim can’t figure out what she’s thinking though. He would say that perhaps she’s still trying to figure him out, but she looks sad. He supposes he’ll ask later, if they’re able to get away from the two laughing hyenas opposite them.

They leave once they’ve finished their milkshakes, Steph staring longingly back at the unfinished pizza, and Jason shoving two slices in his mouth as he edges around the table.

The chilly air hits them as soon as they step outside. The plaza is still full of people, people on dates, people with their families, their friends. There’s barely a star out, there never is, but the moon is shining brilliantly tonight, illuminating the plaza in a cold white glow. Tim takes a moment to himself, sucking it all in.

Steph watches a laughing couple as they walk past with ice-cream cones.

“Me and Jay will go buy ice-creams, okay?” she says, taking Jason by the arm. Jason frowns; he was using that arm to feed himself pizzas. His eyes go wide as Steph drags him off, down a side street.

Jay. Jay, Jay, Jay. The thought of Steph already being on a nickname basis infuriates him, especially as he only started calling him by ‘Jay’ a few weeks ago. It’s childish to feel angry about, but he was starting to feel like it was _his_ thing, calling him ‘Jay’. Of course, there was Dick and Bruce and countless others before him but, being petty, he wanted to make it his own. Jay. Jay, Jay, Jay. If only he could swallow the word and keep it for himself, like he wants to keep Jason for himself.

He turns to Cass when they’re out of sight, trying not to let the jealousy eat at him. “So, what do you think?” he asks, less out of curiosity and more wanting to distract himself from his jealousy.

Cass looks at him. “He’s family.”

Tim can’t decide if that’s a question or a statement. He answers anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“He has made… poor choices in the past. He has done cruel things.”

Tim sighs. He should have known that Cass had already been made aware of him. Bruce must have brought her to the grave, used Jason as a cautionary tale like he did for all the newcomers after him. He feels the hope he had for Cass and Jason getting along wilt a little. “He… I know how you feel about killers, Cass. But Jason’s changed.” He wracks his brains for a way to explain Jason’s history. “Before, he wasn’t himself. He was dead… he was… Look, it’s just different now because he’s…”

“He’s family.”

Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

Cass puts a hand on his arm. “I can see it in the way he looks at you. He looks at you like family.”

Tim’s chest aches a little. “Like family,” he repeats.

Cass squeezes his arm. “I see the way you look at him too.”

And that is too close to Tim’s heart for comfort. Cass’s gaze is wide and honest. Knowing. Damn her for being so perceptive. He shuts his eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone. Not Jason, not Bruce, not—not—”

Arms come around him. He exhales shakily. “I won’t tell,” she promises, and Tim knows she never will. They part.

Steph’s loud, snorting laugh comes into hearing. Cass and Tim look over at the street. Steph’s cheeks are red with laughter, but Jason looks a little ruffled, a slightly addled quirk to his lips. Tim stares at his expression, wondering what happened while they were gone. They come to stand with Cass and Tim, unaware of the exchange that just happened between them not a minute ago. Steph hands Cass an ice-cream, Jason hands one to Tim. It’s strawberry, his favourite. He wonders who of the two picked it out for him.

“It’s like fifty degrees right now,” he says, but he takes a lick anyway.

Steph and Jason grin at him, and they both take synchronised bites into their respective ice-creams. Tim marvels at the sight, pondering on whether or not he made a huge mistake in introducing them to each other. They get along too well, _suspiciously_ well, and they share so much in common. Tim realises that he might indeed have a type.

Steph sighs. “This was fun,” she says, her voice still thick with amusement as she comes to stand beside Cass. She leans down with her tongue out to lick some of Cass’ ice-cream but Cass bats her away.

Jason smiles at their antics.

Tim clears his throat. “What should we do now?”

“Anyone up for bowling?” Steph asks, gesturing downtown.

“It’ll be twelve soon,” Jason says, looking up at the giant clock. “Kinda late for you guys to be out, isn’t it?”

Steph rolls her eyes. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Cass steps in and takes Steph’s arm lightly. “You’re right. We should go home.”

“Buzzkill,” Steph says, leaning away from Cass. “What do we have to do at home? Sleep? Come on, the night is still young.”

Cass gives her a look that says she’s not up for arguing.

She deflates. “Fine, mom. Guess Cassie here is bored of you guys,” she jokes. She wraps her scarf tightly around her neck and takes a big bite out of her ice-cream. She nods at Jason and Tim. “See you, Tim. Nice meeting you, Jason. Sorry for the abrupt end to our night. Next time won’t end so early, I promise.”

“That’s no problem. It was nice meeting you,” Jason replies. “You, too, Cass. Take care.”

Cass offers a small smile in reply. Steph leads her away, and they disappear into the crowd.

“So you didn’t tell me you invited your friends,” Jason says. A bit of his ice-cream drips onto his fingers. Tim stares as he licks it off his skin.

“You wouldn’t have come.”

“You’re a scheming bastard,” Jason says, but there’s a smile on his face when he says it.

“You didn’t tell me that you wore glasses.”

Jason reaches up to touch them, and looks surprised when he feels them on his face. “Oh yeah, these are fake,” he says, taking them off and pocketing them again. “It was a disguise for—you know—what I was doing before,” he adds quickly when Tim makes a confused face. “I was working a job, nothing too crazy. Decided I’d wear them tonight just ‘cause I look hot in them.”

Tim sighs, rolling his eyes, although his inner self is nodding enthusiastically in agreement. He wraps an arm around himself. “You got along well with Steph.”

“Yeah.”

Tim nods, concentrating very hard on his ice-cream.

Jason glances at him. “You think I was hitting on her?”

“No,” Tim says quickly. “Well, I mean—”

“Okay, first of all—she’s a bit too young. Second, she’s with Cassandra. I mean, I’m an asshole but I’m not that kind of asshole.”

“What are you saying? You’re a huge asshole.” Tim does a double take. “Wait, she’s with _Cass?_ ”

Jason looks at him like he’s an idiot. Which he is. “Did you not hear the whole double date thing?”

“I thought that was a joke!”

“Then you’re blind. They were all over each other. Googly eyes, hand-holding, the lot.”

“ _What?_ Oh my god.” Steph and Cass are _dating_? “ _Bringing your ex out to meet your new sweetheart is a stupid idea._ ” Funny then, that she’d do the exact same thing. Why haven’t they told him? He suddenly feels very silly, sillier than before for thinking that Jason and Steph were getting along a bit _too_ well.

The jealousy, however, does not subside. It changes shape, shifting its focus from Steph and Jason to Steph and Cass, morphing into an ugly bitterness about their relationship. It is childish, but Tim wants to shout that it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that they get to find happiness with each other while Tim is left alone, pining and lusting over someone he can’t have.

“What was up with that anyway?” Jason continues, pulling Tim out of his thoughts. He looks bemused but also seems to be amused. “She seemed really under the impression that we’re dating.”

“I don’t know, she’s always like that,” Tim lies. “And you didn’t need to play along with it, you know."

Jason grins. “I liked seeing you look so uncomfortable. It was funny. Also, I love role-playing.”

“Haha.” Tim doesn’t want to think too much about that last statement. He thinks back instead to when Jason and Steph came back from the ice-cream store, Jason looking more ruffled than usual. He groans in realisation. “She gave you the speech didn’t she.”

“She did give me the shovel talk, yeah.”

Tim’s heart rate speeds up a little. What did she _say?_ And why is Jason so _cool_ with everything when Tim is clearly suffering inside?

“Really weird. She was probably just messing with us, I think. Cassandra seems nice. Very cute and tiny.”

Tim snorts. Jason is still as oblivious as ever. “She could take you in a fight. She’s trained, you know. They both are.”

“Under B? I figured as much. She’s got that look. I’d still fight her.”

“Believe me, that fight would be over fast.”

“She’s _tiny_. How is that fight gonna go? Me throwing her around?”

“That’s what everyone thinks.”

There’s a silence after all the small talk, the tension that had been building up during their conversation suddenly making its presence known. The plaza is gradually emptying out, the bustling night life dying down. Tim suddenly feels very tired.

“I guess we should go,” Tim says.

“Wait.” A hand comes around his wrist.

Tim looks up at Jason. He looks confused. Lost. And, if Tim’s honest with himself, he feels the same. It has been a tiring night that has brought with it more questions than answers. “What?” he asks resignedly.

“I’m sorry. I know I made you uncomfortable, but I didn’t mean it. And don’t say it’s fine because I see the look on your face. Tell me. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired,” Tim insists.

Jason hums in agreement. “The ‘getting to know the family’ part is hard for everyone.”

“Shut up, Jay. You’re already part of the family.”

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks again.

“I dunno. Just don’t, okay? Leave it alone.” He can feel his eyes start to water. He absolutely hates it whenever someone asks what’s wrong or if he’s okay. It’s guaranteed to make him start tearing up. “It’s just one of those nights.”

“Do you want me to call—?”

“No. Don’t—don’t call anyone. Just leave it alone. Just…” he exhales harshly, looking out at the skyline. He doesn’t feel like talking, but he doesn’t really want to just end the night either. It’s a quiet night, and there’s no Bat-Signal in the sky to interrupt the sight of the rolling expanse of the clouds, moving imposingly and deliberately above them like waves in slow motion. It’s a cold and harsh night, yes, and Tim is sure that there’s going to be a downpour later on. But it’s Gotham. That’s the beauty of it. It’s not often that he gets to just stop and soak it all in, free of responsibilities and outside pressures. He just wishes that this… _thing_ between him and Jason was gone. This… unnamed presence between them, impeding and cloying, bringing with it opportunities and expectations that Tim isn’t entirely sure how to meet.

If he kissed Jason right now, would that make it all go away? The temptation is there—he feels like it’s always there nowadays. But if he kissed Jason would it somehow untangle this mess that he’s in or would it make it worse?

He can feel Jason’s eyes on his face, staring at him as he stares up at the sky. He takes a deep breath, looking back to meet his gaze. When he meets blue-green his decision is made. “Just walk with me.”

Jason nods. “Okay,” he says, but his eyes roam searchingly over Tim’s face. “Let’s walk.”

***

Batman steps over the line of unconscious bodies, his heavy feet silent on the ground. He tilts his head down, looking at Tim, his mask obscured by the shadows. Batman—the hulking black shadow that is Batman—bends down.

There’s something wrong here, Tim can feel it, but he can’t pinpoint it—

Suddenly there’s a sharp blow to his gut.

He looks up. The shadow is distorted now, there’s a thick, long protrusion at the top—its arm. Batman’s arm is extended. There’s a long, thin metal object in his hand, curved at both ends. It glints under the moonlight.

A deep fear runs through Tim’s bones when he realises.

The arm comes down again, hitting Tim in the ribs. Again and again.

Batman is silent above him, the only noises are the crunch of Tim’s bones under the crowbar.

Tim tries to scream but no sound comes out. He lurches back from the attack, throwing his arms out to shield his torso, but the crowbar hits them down, snapping his arms. His mouth works open and closed as he tries to emit a sound. Any sound at all. But nothing. He can’t even squeak. It’s as if Batman sees that he’s trying to scream for help—he aims the crowbar down at Tim’s face next, but Tim blocks it with his broken arm. He shuts his eyes, waiting for the next blow. It doesn’t come. Confused, he opens his eyes. His mouth opens again in a silent cry.

Batman’s face is suddenly in his, his mask loose and disfigured, his eyes red.

Tim’s suddenly off the ground, and his feet are dangling in the air, his neck completely engulfed by Batman’s hands. Tim kicks at him, desperate, struggling to breathe. A knife goes through his chest—easily and smoothly, like he’s made of paper—pinning him to the wall. Batman lets go and steps back, and Tim stays stuck to the wall, unable to take the knife out and escape. He kicks his legs pointlessly, clutching desperately at the knife in his chest. Batman watches him and laughs, distorted and low, and takes off his mask. Tim notices the white streak first.

It’s Jason. It’s Jason with red eyes and a nasty snarl, and it’s Jason shoving another knife through his chest and stringing him up like a doll. He comes so close Tim can feel his breath sweep across his face, his breathing haggard and wrecked. His lips twist into a snarl, showing all his teeth.

“Tim.”

The voice comes out all wrong. It’s too soft. It’s too far away. It’s like he’s underwater, and someone up above is shouting his name.

“Tim,” the voice calls again. It echoes in the chambers of the cave, but it’s barely as loud as a whisper.

Jason pushes another knife slowly into his navel, dragging his attention back to him. He smiles when Tim looks back up at him, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and coaxing.

“Love you.”

Tim jolts, finding himself wide awake in his bed. Jason is leaning over him, his hands on Tim’s face, his eyes wide and concerned. Tim brushes his eyes over his own body, relief and realisation washing over him when he sees he’s unharmed. Jason lets go, and Tim looks up at him.

“You were having a nightmare,” Jason says. He sounds tired. Tim wonders what time it is. “You were saying my name.”

“Oh.” Tim rubs his eyes. The dream is fading fast, vague remnants and a feeling of dread are soon all that are left.

Jason purses his lips. Tim looks away from him, needing a moment to separate this Jason from the one in his dream. “You know anyone else having nightmares ‘cause of me?”

Tim drags his eyes from the wall back to Jason’s. “No,” he says firmly. “Maybe a ton of criminals but—”

“But no one that really matters. Okay then.”

“I really matter?” His words slur. His voice is still thick with sleep.

“Of course,” Jason smiles as he sits down beside him, his weight weighing down the mattress, causing Tim to shift across the bed, rolling into Jason’s back. His eyes flick down at the contact, then he reaches a hand out to run his fingers through Tim’s hair. His eyes slowly meet Tim’s, and he sees something on Tim’s face that makes him frown. “Jesus,” he huffs a laugh, “stop acting so shocked every time I say I care about you.”

The ‘love you’ keeps replaying itself in Tim’s mind, over and over.

“I’m making up for it, aren’t I?” Jason asks. His voice is small. Unsure.

“You’re making up for it,” Tim agrees. He takes Jason’s hand out of his hair and brings it to his side, squeezing it gently. Jason doesn’t pull his hand away when Tim leaves his clasped gently around it, but he won’t look at Tim either. He stares at the wall, his face blank, but his eyes telling a different story.

“Jason?” Tim tries for a response.

Jason continues looking silently at the wall.

“You’re my brother, Jason,” Tim says quietly, as much as it pains him to do so. Jason’s voice, telling him he loves him, rattles around his rib cage, screaming out with contradiction. “We’ll always be there for each other.”

This shakes Jason out of his temporary stupor. He gives Tim a small smile, taking his hand gently away from Tim. “Of course. Yeah. Hey, I have to go do something today. You can do whatever while I’m gone, just don’t use my money to buy pineapple pizza,” he says, jokingly sour.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tim says, shutting his eyes and calling back the last remnants of sleep before they escape him entirely. He figures he can sleep for a few more minutes. He isn’t content with where he’s leaving with Jason, but he’s too reluctant to look into it any more at the moment.

Jason snorts, rubbing his hair. “You’re alright, kid. Call me if you need anything.”

Tim listens to him walk out, shutting the door behind him. He turns his face into the pillow, pulling the sheets up to his chin.

It’s around four o’clock when Tim gets a call. He’s sitting on the couch watching South Park reruns. He checks the screen. It’s Steph. He puts his box of Hawaiian pizza on the coffee table and answers, “Hello?”

“ _Cass told me everything_.”

“Told you what? Speaking of Cass, when were you gonna tell me about you two?”

“ _Cass told me about the Red Hood,_ ” she says insistently.

Tim’s breath catches. His defenses go straight up. “What’d she say?”

“ _She said a lot of things. A whole damn lot. You didn’t tell me Jason is bad news. And not just like the guy in the bar in the biker jacket with a dark past and a brooding face._ ”

“Doesn’t everyone dig the bad boys?”

“ _Jason isn’t just a bad_ boy, _Tim_ ,” she says, exasperatedly. “ _He’s a bad guy. He_ kills _people. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that_.”

“So what? Suddenly you’re an expert on him? I haven’t forgotten anything. But I know Jason’s not like that anymore. He’s better.”

”He’s dangerous.”

Is he dangerous? Well, that’s a given, but it’s not what Steph is saying. Is he dangerous to Tim? Tim, who has been training under Batman for a longer time than Jason ever has, who has looked at the mistakes of his predecessors and improved on them, who has been trained under _Shiva_. Is Jason dangerous to him? “Yes,” he decides. “But aren’t we all dangerous for each other?”

“ _Tim, I care about you, and I don’t want you getting hurt. I know you can take care of yourself, but we’re talking about the guy who’s almost killed you multiple times before_.”

“I told you. He’s changed. I don’t know how to convince you that he’s _good_ , Steph. Did Cass tell you that he used to be Robin?”

“ _Being Robin doesn’t automatically make you a good person. He tried to_ kill _you, Tim._ ”

“No,” Tim blurts out, “No, he didn’t, it wasn’t really him.”

“ _This isn’t right,_ ” she says. “ _Why are you still around this lunatic?_ ”

“Because he isn’t a lunatic!” Tim exclaims, his voice almost shaking. “What he did, it wasn’t him, Steph. It wasn’t him.”

Steph is silent for a long time, her breath the only thing audible over the line, puffing slowly, as Tim sits there, sour heat crawling up his skin as he tries to think of a way to make Steph _understand_. To make her listen to _him_ , and not whatever she’s thinking in her head right now. Tim doesn’t want to hear it.

“ _I understand_ ,” she says eventually, her voice soft and measured. “ _You trust a person, and you think they’re okay, and it’s hard to see them as being anything but. I get it._ ” And the implication is there, the painful past that Tim had learnt about her once upon a time—she’s comparing Jason to her _father_ , and it’s _nothing_ like that, she’s wrong, but somewhere deep down Tim knows that she isn’t, so he hangs up and turns his phone off.

He sits there, stewing in anger, his heart beating fast, his skin flush with irritation.

“She’s right, you know.”

Tim snaps around, surprised by the sudden entry of Jason. He hadn’t heard him come in. He panics for a moment, thinking that Jason’s found out about his feelings for him, but he re-examines his own words—the words Jason heard—and realises that nothing in the conversation could have revealed that fact to him. What he heard was Tim arguing and defending him, and nothing else. Jason peels off his jacket, walking slowly to the kitchen.

“She isn’t,” Tim states. “She doesn’t get it.”

Jason comes back with a glass of water. “Neither do you. Not really. I’m the only one who knows what was going on in my head. I’m telling you what I did was purposeful, it was my intent to kill you.”

“No, you weren’t in your right mind. You’d been corrupted by the Lazarus Pit.”

“It was still me.”

“It was barely you,” Tim says stubbornly, his voice faltering.

Jason purses his lips. “I don’t think we should talk about this.”

“When _will_ we talk about this then? It’s still hanging over our heads like a dark cloud. It’s always gonna be there unless we acknowledge it.”

“Clouds don’t really work that way.”

“I’m serious.”

“Look,” Jason says after taking a long swig of water, “what I do know is that I’ve done a lot of shit. Shit I can never make up for. But I’m doing all I can to make it up even just a little bit to all the people I’ve hurt. All the small favours I can do for them, I do them. Every little thing I can think of. But I know—they all know—that it’ll never make up for what I’ve done.” He sits down beside Tim. “I’m glad you’re all up for defending me, but I don’t need it. I don’t deserve it. You need to get that all that stuff doesn’t just magically go away.”

“Maybe they don’t, but you’re better _now_.”

“I’m better now,” Jason agrees, shrugging. “But sometimes, that just isn’t enough.”

“It’ll be enough,” Tim insists, but his voice is quieter now. It’s not Jason he’s trying to convince.

Jason looks at him, his brows pulled down into a weary scowl. “Will it?”

Tim nods slowly. “It’s enough for me.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tim had forgotten how fun it was, going on patrol with Jason.

There is something about being with him that makes the job more exciting, more dangerous. Tim watches as Jason retracts his grapple a few milliseconds too early, barely making it to the edge of the rooftop, but making it nonetheless. He takes risks, less calculated decisions. He throws himself headfirst without using his head first. He can see why Batman disapproves, and why everyone else loves running with him.

He thinks Steph would love it the most.

It’s so easy to get lost in the way he moves, all quick and agile, vaulting his bulky six-foot frame effortlessly across rooftops, along the edges of rails. He isn’t flashy like Dick at all. He rolls when he needs to, he flips through the air, but his legs never come up for that extra spin or a graceful cartwheel upon landing. He’s A to B in the quickest way possible, and Tim can hardly keep up. He supposes it’s what works best for someone with a body like his. And—that’s another thing. Jason’s body armour is militaristic, thick and heavy. Practical. But it somehow clings to the shape of him, tight against his waist, emphasising all his… assets. Tim stares as a gust of wind blows Jason’s jacket up. Yeah, Jason has a great taste in wardrobe.

“Keep up, kid!” Jason yells back at him as he scales the side of a building.

“Keeping… up…” Tim says hoarsely.

He is panting, swinging himself up from a pole onto a ledge on the opposite building. He hasn’t done anything as strenuous as this in weeks thanks to his ribs. All he’s been doing while out of commission is laying on Jason’s couch and eating boxes of pizza. Now the consequences of all of his terrible lifestyle choices are catching up with him.

Jason finally slows and comes to a stop on top of a warehouse near the port. When he eventually catches up to him, Tim bends over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch a breath. Jason looks down at him, his mask on, but Tim can tell he’s silently laughing at him.

“This is your fault,” Tim wheezes, straightening up and crossing his arms behind his head. He swallows huge gulps of the night air, the salty taste of the harbour filling his lungs.

Jason just stares at him, his helmet still and expressionless. It’s a little eerie, but Tim supposes it’s still better than an emoting helmet. Imagine that. With a mouth and everything.

“What? No witty comeback?”

“Shut up,” Jason whispers. Tim realises that he isn’t looking at him, but past him, towards the rest of the port. “I think I saw—”

A loud bang suddenly fills the air. It sounds like something being rammed against a shipping container, except… Tim can’t see any active cranes or machines that could be producing the noise.

“Any idea what that could be?” Jason asks, walking to the edge of the warehouse roof, scanning the port for the source.

“No. There’s not anything nearby that could be making that sound. What did you see?”

“I’m not sure, we need to—”

A yell sounds in the distance.

They glance at each other and wordlessly jump onto a nearby cargo container, leaping across gaps until they reach the area where the shout sounded from. It’s darker in the area, with hardly any lights around. They look out into the maze before them, stacks upon stacks of containers lined up along the coast, with no real end or beginning that they can see.

Tim feels Jason tense up, getting ready to leap.

“Wait.” Tim holds Jason back, his palm splayed against Jason’s chest. It isn’t necessary but… Tim thinks he’s developed a sort of problem with touching Jason more often than he needs to. Jason’s armour is cold and hard under his touch but he can feel Jason’s diaphragm rise and fall with his breath. It’s fast—Jason’s excited. It’s been a long while since he’s encountered something on patrol other than petty thieves, Tim could see it in how restless he always seemed to be when he came back to the apartment at night. And he has been going out on a lot of patrols recently. Holiday break or not—nothing can keep Jason away from the job.

Tim realises he’s been touching Jason for a bit too long now, and takes his hand away. “We can’t just rush into this,” he continues. “What if it’s something big?”

“How are we gonna do this then?” Jason asks. “Should we just walk around and yell ‘Marco’?”

“There are, on average, thirty-seven million metric tons of cargo import and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Jason hisses. “Well, the sound came from over there,” he points, “so our best strategy would probably be to split.” He waits for Tim to nod his assent then moves off to the right.

Tim moves to the left. He lands silently on the next container, then takes off running down the straight line of stacks, keeping his eyes open for any sort of movement. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jason doing the same, keeping low but moving fast, his helmet glinting under the moonlight.

There’s movement on a lower container, directly between Jason and Tim. Tim signals to Jason to move in. Jason jumps and lands on the ground, coming up on the other side of the container. It’s wide open. Tim stays where he is, looking around for any other motion and keeping an eye on Jason as he enters the container.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion. Jason flies out, grappling with a dark figure. At the same time, something collides into Tim’s back, sending Tim falling onto the ground, his mouth tasting dirt. He recovers quickly, spinning to his feet, extending his bo staff and swiping at whatever attacked him. He gets them pinned down under his bo staff, laying sprawled on the ground. Tim can’t see their face under the shadows, but he think’s it’s—

“Nightwing?” Jason says loudly. Tim looks over and watches Jason step off of the man he just held down with his foot.

Dick stands, brushing himself off. “Hood.”

Tim watches in surprise. So if that’s Dick, the accomplice must be…

“Demon,” Tim greets pleasantly, lifting his bo staff off of Damian’s back and letting him up.

Damian gets to his feet, cursing loudly as he brushes the dirt off of his front. He shoots a death glare Tim’s way, and he makes his way over to stand beside Dick. They all stand around in a circle, ruffled and on edge. Dick and Damian look especially tired, their bodies slightly hunched, their hands loose by their sides. Tim wonders if they had something to do with the noises from before.

“The double D squad,” Jason says, a smile in his voice. He places his hands around his helmet, unlatching it so he can slide it off and place it under his arm. He shakes his hair out, running his fingers through the mess. He looks especially smug after pinning down Dick. “How nice.”

“The double _outcasts_ ,” Damian answers snidely.

The corner of Tim’s eye twitches.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Jason steps in, figuratively and literally, blocking Tim’s view of Damian’s smug face.

“What the hell are you two doing sneaking around out here?” Tim asks.

“We could ask the same question,” Dick says, crossing his arms. “Along with: why did you attack us?”

“We didn’t attack you, you attacked _us_ ,” Jason says indignantly. His voice is exaggeratedly offended, and Tim finds himself loving his brash attitude—when he’s not on the receiving end of it.

“It was hard to see,” Dick says honestly, and although he’s wearing a mask, Tim can see the open expression on his face. He’s the total opposite to Jason—placating where Jason is an instigator. It’s a small shock each time one of them speaks, like he’s being doused in flame then put out then doused again, but they somehow balance each other out well. Dick continues, “There are no lights around here and our scanners were damaged. Sorry.” He shrugs apologetically.

“Doesn’t excuse Robin,” Tim interjects. He points to the higher stack of containers behind them. “I was up there in plain view. He clearly saw me.”

“I did not,” Damian protests, nose turned up. “All I saw was an idiot.”

“Cute,” Jason says. “But before we continue with this charming banter, do you two know about the spooky sounds coming from here a few minutes ago?” Leave it to Jason to throw ‘spooky’ into a serious conversation.

Damian looks up at Dick. His brows come together in a heavy scowl, and he glares at Dick like he’s trying to relay a message to him telepathically. Dick’s glances down at him, but he avoids Damian’s gaze, his feet shifting in the dirt. He looks sheepish.

“Robin tripped and fell.”

“What was that noise then?”

“Robin tripped and fell _onto a container_ ,” Dick elaborates.

Jason bursts out laughing. “Jesus. We thought we heard a freight train or something, not little birdie banging into a container.”

“He’s not so little anymore.”

Jason laughs again. “Please,” he says, shaking his head, “he’s like ten years old! He’s _tiny_.”

“For your information, idiot, I’m twelve! And I’m almost as tall as Red Robin. Another year or so and I will surpass him,” Damian says, a matter-of-factly.

Tim looks at Damian. _Really_ looks at him. Surprisingly, he’s right. He can’t believe he didn’t notice it before at the manor. Damian stands at shoulder height to Dick, whilst Tim stands at shoulder height to Jason. He’s gotten bigger too, his face is thicker and less boyish, his arms are more filled out, and his body is wider. He must have had an early growth spurt—a _huge_ early growth spurt—and he must have intensified his training regime. Tim, for the first time in his life, feels threatened by the little demon. He really does _not_ want to be the shortest Robin.

“I don’t even wanna know what enhancements you’re taking,” Jason mutters. He inclines his head downwards, shaking it in mock lamentation.

“It’s puberty, Red,” Dick says quietly.

“It’s some crazy X-Men shit. Or crazy Lance Armstrong shit.”

“It’s crazy puberty stuff. Come on. We all went through the same thing.”

“No, I’m not so sure about that. I’m pretty sure there’s something unnatural going on behind the scenes. Possibly demonic.”

“That’s not nice.”

Tim watches the exchange, feeling like he’s witnessing something rare. Since when has Jason been on bantering terms with Dick? The sort of banter with no real heat behind it? As they go back-and-forth, Tim realises that this is how it always should have been: Jason and Dick being brothers. There’s something so natural about the way they rib on each other; there’s undeniable chemistry that he’s sure neither one of them sees, but it’s there and Tim feels something in the dark, jealous pit inside him reach up and tug at his heartstrings.

“If he starts hurling pea soup,” Jason is saying, “you know who to call.”

Dick bursts out laughing. “No, it’s definitely puberty. You should’ve seen what I caught him doing last week.”

Jason straightens up, his attention caught. “What was he doing?”

Dick simply looks at him.

Jason is silent for a moment, regarding Dick’s expression. As if they’ve just communicated words with their eyes, Jason honks out a laugh a second later, getting closer to Dick to rest a hand on his shoulder, supporting himself as they crack up. “Are you serious?” he gasps out in between laughs.

Damian and Tim watch the display off to the side. Damian’s body is tensed, and his fists are clenched. Tim feels a smile grow on his face watching Dick and Jason both laugh their heads off, but he isn’t entirely sure what the joke is. He watches in amusement as Dick leans in and whispers something into Jason’s ear. Jason is still for a second, and the next, he is doubled over in laughter.

“You have your work cut out for you there, Nightwing,” Jason says. “Better teach him the ol’ cup trick, lest the cup get the better of him.”

Jason and Dick’s laughter turns to a crescendo. Meanwhile, Damian is glaring holes into the backs of their heads. Tim snickers at his expression.

Damian hears him, and turns on him, giving him a look. “It’s not that funny.”

“It’s pretty funny.”

“It’s not that funny.”

Tim sighs. He looks up when he feels Jason looking back at him and doesn’t fight the smile that grows on his lips.

“Back me up, Red,” Jason says. “I’m the better fist-fighter? Right?”

Dick snorts. “Please. I’ve got quicker hands.”

Tim shakes his head, looking at Dick. “I dunno. Red’s got really good hands. They’re just the softest things.”

Jason glares at him whilst Dick honks, his laughter echoing through the docks. “I’ll show you soft hands.”

Tim’s brows raise. “Is that a threat?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Kinky.”

Jason rolls his eyes before he’s distracted by whatever Dick’s doing to his left hand. “They _are_ really soft!” he declares, much to his delight and Jason’s obvious displeasure.

“You’re flirting with him,” Damian whispers accusingly.

“Excuse me?” Tim says, taken aback.

Damian looks away, seemingly dropping the matter entirely. Tim doesn’t feel any relief, now knowing that Damian knows more about him than he is comfortable with. “Nightwing,” Damian says loudly, straightening up haughtily. Dick turns to look at him, his cheeks bright red with laughter. Damian snorts. “It’s time to leave. Father expected us back thirty minutes ago.”

Dick reluctantly pulls away from Jason, pouting, his shoulders slightly slumped. He follows Damian as he scales a stack of containers, but he stays behind a moment longer when Damian leaps onto another stack. “Call if you need us,” Dick says, his foot out on the edge of the container. “Both of you,” he adds, looking back at Jason meaningfully.

“See you ‘round,” Jason replies, sliding his helmet back on.

Tim waves in acknowledgment.

“Nightwing!” Damian roars in the distance.

Dick groans, yelling, “Coming!” before leaping after the boy.

“He is such a little—” Jason groans loudly. He brings his hands together in a wringing motion.

“That’s violent.”

Jason tsks. “We might’ve gotten along if he hadn’t beat my ass in a fight. I can’t let that shit go.”

Tim scoffs. “ _He_ beat _you_?”

“If he hadn’t have run away maybe I could’ve evened the score. But he’s just a kid, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him.” He scales the same containers that Dick and Damian climbed, and Tim follows.

“You went easy on him, right? I went easy on him and I _still_ got him to yield.”

Jason snorts, his helmet tilting back as he turns towards Tim. “Never took you for such a _bragger_.”

“Hey, I rarely brag,” Tim protests.

“Yeah, but when you do, you _indulge_ in it.”

“Well, I for one think it’s pretty great that I didn’t get my ass beat by a ten-year-old.”

“Shut up,” Jason tells him before leaping across a large gap to another container stack and then leaping across the next. Tim follows, albeit a little more slowly.

“You and Nightwing seem to be getting along. Better than last time,” Tim says casually.

“Yeah. He’s tolerable when he’s not being overbearing.”

“He does that a lot,” Tim agrees. He bites his lip. “It just seems like you’ve put the worst behind you, you know? You guys are good together.”

“Yeah. He isn’t nearly as annoying as he is in bed.”

Tim practically blanches. “You’ve slept with _Nightwing_?”

“Yeah. It was kind of weird. Kind of like sleeping with a first cousin.”

“ _What?_ ” Tim stumbles, almost missing the next landing, but Jason takes ahold of his arm, pulling him up against his body. Tim, off-balance, leans heavily against Jason, his hands pushing hard against his chest, but Jason doesn’t budge. Tim uses him to steady himself, and he straightens up, clearing his throat, but Jason doesn’t let go of him, his hand wrapped tight around Tim’s arm.

“You know, I’m _joking_ , birdie. Jesus.”

“Why would you joke about _that?_ ”

“I didn’t know what you were getting at. It sounded like you were implying something. And Demon said something about flirting.”

“Why would I imply something like _that?_ And he wasn’t—” _He wasn’t talking about_ you.

“Goddamn, I don’t know. I wouldn’t sleep with any real family, let alone Nightwing. What’s gotten into you? You’re so damn jumpy.” His helmet, red and plain, is tilted down at Tim’s face. Tim finds himself wishing Jason would go back to wearing the domino mask instead, then he’d have an easier time reading him.

“I don’t know. Sorry,” Tim says, gesturing out at the freight yard. “I guess I’m just on edge after tonight.”

Jason lets his arm drop, fingers brushing against the length of Tim’s arm, all the way down to his wrist. Tim’s skin itches where Jason touches him. His breathing hitches. “Maybe it was unwise to bring you out so soon,” Jason says quietly.

Tim scoffs. “I’m completely fine. I’ve healed. Staying inside will just make things worse for me.”

“Well, then let’s see you make your way back without falling off any more containers.” His words are challenging, but his tone is nothing less than concerned. He makes his across the containers and gaps again, but more unrushed this time, so he isn’t too far ahead of Tim, and they make a slow and methodical route back towards the city.

They arrive back a little after two, and Tim strips off quickly and takes a shower, washing off the sweat from his skin. He changes into pyjamas, and goes to find Jason, who has disappeared off somewhere. Tim finds him on the rooftop, shed down to a T-shirt and shorts, a trail of smoke twisting out to the sky from the stick in his hand.

Tim stares. Just for a moment, just a little moment of indulgence. Then when he’s done soaking it all in, he steps up to the railing beside him, leaning on his arms.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says. Batman had ensured that all unhealthy habits were cut out from their lives. Well, everything except vigilantism.

Jason doesn’t turn around. He drops the butt on the ground, stubbing it out with his toe. “It’s a tough habit to kick. Especially when you’re stressed.”

“What’s eating you?” Tim asks, turning so he can sit up on the railing. He studies Jason’s face. “Aside from, you know, the tobacco.”

Jason gives him an unimpressed look before setting himself down beside him, his legs swinging over the edge. “I was thinking about what Damian said. Us being… the outcasts. And I think he’s right.” He goes silent the next minute, his eyes downcast. “It's unhealthy,” he says after a moment, “the way we were cast aside. We follow the big man around for years on end, in some of the most important years of our lives, some of the most _vulnerable_ , then we suddenly get cast aside for something better, something shinier. We get shafted off into the big world alone, trying to find ourselves again, trying to find some sense of stability.” He takes a deep breath. “Who knows if we’ll ever find it.”

“I didn't replace you, Jason.”

Jason looks at him, and Tim sees the hurt in his eyes, knows nothing he can say can undo everything that’s happened to Jason. “That's not how I felt.” Jason kicks his legs against the railing, leaning back slightly and turning his eyes to the stars. “But it doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is that you and me, we’re the unwanted Robins. We’re not the first. We’re not… his sons. We’re just us.”

“Being us isn’t so bad.”

Jason smiles back at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I dunno. I kind of just want to feel wanted. I dunno,” he waves his hand dismissively.

“Koriand’r and Roy—”

“Get along just fine without me.”

Tim deflates inwardly, unsure of what to say. _I want you_ , he thinks, but that wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t mean it the way Jason means it. Jason wouldn’t feel the same. But it could work. It could work if Tim took the risk. It could work if Tim had the courage to just _try_. He takes a breath and opens his mouth.

Jason leans towards him and says, “I’m glad you’re here, kiddo. You’re the brother I never had.”

And the moment is gone. Tim lets the words go in a sigh, and they get snatched up in the breeze. The same breeze gently blows tendrils of hair across Jason’s forehead. Tim watches them caress his skin, envious of him and the fact that he’d never know what just transpired. That he’d never know of the words Tim wanted to say, but couldn’t. His fingers twitch, aching to reach out and touch him.

Jason swings his legs back over the ledge and stands, making his way back downstairs. Tim lets him go.

***

Tim dreams that night, but it isn’t of Batman or blood or crowbars. Tim dreams of Jason. But for once, Jason isn’t hurting him. He dreams of Jason, eyes dark, teeth bared, climbing into his bed. He dreams of warm skin against his, of the mattress creaking in protest with every thrust. And when he wakes, the echoes of phantom gasps and moans fill his head, and he finds his skin flush with desire.

He reaches a hand under the covers, into his pants, beginning a slow stroke. He’s already aroused. When he closes his eyes, he can still see Jason’s face, his hair falling over his eyes, his mouth open, hot and wet. Tim’s thigh muscles tighten and loosen in a slow dirty rhythm as he thrusts upwards into his fist. The mattress grows damp with sweat under his back, so Tim kicks away the sheets, shuddering when the cool night air touches his skin. He quickens his pace, his breaths turning to gasps, his heart pounding against his chest. He thinks of Jason’s calloused hands roaming his body, his skin hot and damp on top of Tim’s. He thinks of Jason whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He doesn’t last long.

“ _Jay_ ,” he cries, when he comes. Part of him hopes Jason hears, that he comes rushing to Tim’s room, that his eyes grow dark with lust when he does.

But as Tim lies there, panting, his heart pounding hard but gradually calming, his mind wanders back to the events of the past few hours. Guilt overrides him when he realises what he’s done. He hastily cleans up the filthy remains of his mess, getting rid of it like evidence at a crime scene.

He lets out a single sob and pulls the covers up, letting the darkness lull him back to what he hopes is a dreamless sleep.

***

They head out early the next afternoon, having heard from Batman of a disturbance in their area. Reports of shouting and gunfire from an abandoned warehouse, he said.

“It’s always a warehouse,” Jason says, shaking his head as he puts on his body armour and shimmies into his jacket. “Why do we have so many abandoned warehouses in this goddamn city?”

He takes his motorcycle there, Tim taking to the rooftops instead. The wind whips through his hair, exhilarating him, and he completely forgets his dream, instead getting caught up in the moment. When they arrive, Jason bursts through the doors, rubber bullets flying everywhere. Tim figured he’d enter like that. Jason is shoot first, ask questions later, and Tim doesn’t mind—but only if he’s using rubber bullets. He slides in through a gap in an open window, taking down the guys on the upper floor.

“Since when are Red Robin and Red Hood workin’ together?” yells a guy directly below, on the bottom floor. Tim watches him aim his gun at Jason, whose back is turned.

Tim leaps, tackling the guy to the floor. He bounces off the guy and lands near Jason, who takes both his arms in his, swinging him around and letting go. The momentum sends Tim flying into a group of men across the room. They work swiftly, and when Tim makes his way back to Jason, they work in sync, stepping around each other, moving in a wide circle around the assailants almost subconsciously.

Every once in a while, Tim indulges in watching Jason, enamoured with the way his biceps move underneath his jacket when he pulls them up for a block, the wide sweep of his shoulders, the curves of his toned thighs accentuated underneath his pants. He’s surprised he isn’t taken off guard with how distracted he is.

They leave before the first police car comes, knowing that the law enforcement are more than capable enough of handling the criminals they left tied up inside. They meet up again on a rooftop a few blocks away, catching their breath.

Jason stands with his feet wide apart, twirling his guns at his sides before holstering them. “You like that?” he asks Tim, a grin in his voice.

“The guns or the job?”

“Both, either, neither,” Jason chatters, his voice breathy and high. He takes off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His hair is unkempt and matted, matching the disheveled look on his face. Tim resists the urge to run his hands through Jason’s helmet hair.

“Well, first off, you don’t have bow legs, so the whole gun-toting cowboy look is lost on you.”

Jason huffs, moving to the edge of the building to sit down, kicking his legs over the edge again. He sits his helmet down beside him, facing the sunset. “I think I would’ve made a pretty good cowboy.”

“Cowboys aren’t even cool anymore,” Tim teases, sitting himself down beside Jason.

“Cowboys aren’t cool to you because you’re a nerd.”

“Well, this nerd just helped you kick ass,” Tim says brightly, inclining his head to the side, his eyes brushing gently over Jason beside him. It was thrilling watching him fight. Intoxicating. He knows what he’s doing, and he does it well. “It was fun, by the way.” _Running with you always is_.

Jason is smiling. Tim sees the rise of his cheeks even though his face is turned away, out to the skyline. “Y’know, you’re good. We make a good team,” Jason says.

“Yeah.” Tim sighs contentedly. “We do.”

“What are you smiling about?”

Tim didn’t realise that a smile had grown on his lips too. He quickly wipes it off, but Jason is laughing at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

“Didn’t know you were so sappy,” he says, shaking his head.

Tim doesn’t point out the fact that Jason spends the rest of the night beside Tim with a soft smile on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

A strong grip comes down on Tim’s shoulder, and a low, velvety voice rolls over his ear, “Happy birthday, Tim.”

Tim looks out at the hall, the white tables glistening with finely polished silverware, dancing suits and dresses tailored to perfection. A dozen white smiles turn in their direction at the sound of Bruce’s voice, and their flat eyes wait expectantly for Tim’s reply. Tim’s gut churns at the attention, and he heaves a heavy sigh, disguised as one of content. He flashes a charming smile like he was raised to do and utters a thanks over his shoulder.

The hulking presence behind him leaves, and Tim feels like he can breathe again.

Dick dances up beside him, hooking his arm around Tim’s and leading him to a quieter corner of the hall where they can speak quietly without anyone hearing. “Mind lightening up a little?” He leans down, his eyes wide and earnest, one hand on Tim’s shoulder, grounding. He gestures around the hall with the other hand. “Half the room can feel your glare on their necks.”

“Sorry,” Tim says, deflating. He shakes his head slightly. “It’s just been a long while since an event like this. I kinda lost my suave.”

“Yeah. Ever since you missed the Christmas party…” Dick trails off, his eyebrows raised. He looks away and takes a sip of his drink. There’s never any subtlety with him.

Tim tuts. “And here I was thinking that you forgave me for that.”

Dick’s eyes drag slowly back to his. “ _You_ , yes.”

Tim can’t help but be offended at what he’s implying. He straightens up, delicately brushing Dick’s hand off his shoulder. Dick smiles it off, smoothly running his fingers through his dark locks. “It’s not his fault he can’t come to these events,” Tim says indignantly.

“But it _is_ his fault for keeping you occupied.”

Tim rolls his eyes. _Occupied_. He says it like Jason’s giving him _jobs_ or something when really, their average day consists of lazing around until Jason gets the urge to go out and punch something. Occupied maybe, if Dick is referring to the way Tim can’t seem to get Jason out of his mind. But Dick doesn’t know that.

“Ever think that maybe the reason you feel so guilty is that you know you shouldn’t be around him so much?”

Tim snorts. “I don’t feel guilty.”

“Really.” Dick’s hooded eyes look unimpressed. “After you called me twenty times begging for forgiveness.”

“I didn’t _beg_ —” Tim protests, raising his voice.

“You’re angrier these days, Tim,” Dick says, hushing him. “Now, I’m not saying it’s _his_ fault, but you can’t be spending twenty-four seven with him. Too much time with a person and you’re bound to get sick of them.” Dick shrugs, leaning back and looking like he just gave the most insightful advice in the world. Tim wants to slap him.

“I want to slap you,” he says. Loudly. A gasp sounds from somewhere on Tim’s left, and a dozen eyes turn on him again, boring holes into his skin. Tim can barely restrain his groan.

Dick turns his head away from the crowd and whispers into his sleeve, “Dami, distraction.”

Across the hall, the harsh sound of a plate shattering across the floor draws the eyes away from Tim and Dick.

Tim steps back, huffing and shaking his head disbelievingly. “What was this, a planned intervention? At my _birthday_?”

“It’s not an intervention, it’s a warning,” Dick states matter-of-factly.

“A _warning_?”

“Okay, a warning sounds terrible. It’s not really, it’s—” Dick fumbles his words in his rush to get them out. He always does this when he knows he’s losing Tim’s attention, and he is definitely losing his attention now. “It’s just brothers looking out for brothers, okay?”

“Look, Dick. I want you to think about this. Like, _really_ think about it. He doesn’t get invited out to his only family’s gatherings—not _one_ —and the one time I request to have him here, at _my_ birthday, I get shot down immediately. How lonely do you think he feels? How rejected?” The look of guilt that finally crosses over Dick’s face works somewhat to allay his anger, but only enough so he doesn’t start yelling. Dick opens his mouth to answer, but Tim’s steaming so he rolls over him with a final, “If I’m not there for him, who will be?” And with that, he makes his way briskly out of the hall, a hundred eyes on his back.

He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about any of them, those ‘friends’ who talk behind his back, whose gossip will fuel the media headlines. The only people he does care about, however, have just disappointed him. Disappointed him with their lack of regard for their brother, their _son_. None of them seem to care about Jason, and it breaks his heart. The way they so easily seem to sweep him aside along with all their other secrets. There’s no effort on their part to reach out to Jason and integrate him back into the family. Nothing.

He wanders the halls for a while, imagining what Jason would be doing if he were there. He realises then that he’s never seen him at a party. Not even a small house party. Jason would probably like those better, he thinks. The intimacy of a loud, crowded, suburban house, the informality of it. Jason leaning against a wall or sprawled on a couch, head tipped back, throat bobbing as he drinks from his bottle of beer. The slow, dirty slur of his words, the sharpness of his gaze cutting through the crowd.

He feels a flush grow on his cheeks and wonders if he should find an empty room.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he finds Cass sitting in one of the hallways, Steph’s head in her lap. She looks up sleepily when Tim approaches, her head tilted to one side inquisitively.

Tim sits beside her, sighing heavily. “Steph asleep?”

Steph answers with a loud snore.

Tim sighs again.

There’s silence between them for a few minutes, with just the muffled sound of music from downstairs and the heavy snores coming from Steph filling the empty hallway. The grandfather clock ticks away, its face showing its hands nearing nine. Tim finds himself wondering what Jason is up to. Nine. Nine on a Sunday night and Jason would be preparing for patrol, sliding his leather jacket on and strapping up his boots. Asking Tim to tighten up his vest at his back. Running his fingers through Tim’s hair when he’s done. A slow smile, wide enough to reveal his canines… Tim shakes himself out of his thoughts. He’s feeling particularly lustful tonight for no reason at all.

Eventually, Cass utters one word, but it’s enough to make Tim perk up. “Patrol?”

They’re out on the rooftops in ten minutes.

It doesn’t take long for them to spot a commotion down in an alley near a small grocery. Two masked men. One elderly man. Pointed guns. Typical mugging. Cass drops down on top of one man and disarms him, Tim takes the other. Behind them, on the main road, tires screech and a vehicle speeds away. Tim spins around just in time to catch the make. Dark green van. Tinted windows.

“We have to—” Tim shouts out to Cass, but she’s already grappling up to the roofs, leaving Tim to deal with the two men.

“Thank you—thank you, son,” the elderly man is saying, “Those men wanted—wanted my money. I’m—I’m so glad you came. I feared for my life, they had _guns_. Oh, my wife would be so worried.”

“No problem, sir,” Tim says, straightening up after tying the two men together. “The police will be here soon. Have a safe—”

“They told me! They told me they wanted my money. I told them—I told them they can’t have it, but they were asking…” the man sobs. “There were more. Oh, they wanted my money, my—oh, my wife, my children…”

“Sir, it’s fine. You’re fine. Your wife and children will be thrilled to know you’re fine.” Tim has wasted so many precious seconds already, but the old man seems to be on the brink of hysteria. “I need—I need to go, sir. Their accomplices are still out there, I need to ensure everyone is safe.”

“Yes, yes. Safe, yes, yes…” The man's frail voice lowers to a murmur.

Tim hesitates before sending his grapple out. He hopes the authorities arrive soon to put the man at ease. But he also needs to make sure that the other men are caught. Something tells him Cass won’t let them get away though.

“Oracle. I need Batgirl’s location.”

“ _Status report._ ”

“She’s in pursuit. Green van with possible suspects. I didn’t get the licence plate. We just apprehended two.”

“ _She’s a mile north of you. On King street. Near South City Park_.”

“Thanks, Oracle.”

“ _You two be careful. I want an update when you’re done_.”

Tim pushes north, swinging as fast as he can towards Cass’ location. When he gets there, he sees Cass squatting down behind a railing, watching something down on the alley below. He crouches down next to her and watches.

There are four men. The green van is parked next to them. Tim can’t make out what they’re saying but they seem to be panicking. There are no visible weapons. There also seems to be—

“Where are you going?” Tim hisses at Cass who has stood up. She has one leg up on the rail and looks ready to pounce.

“Down,” she says simply. She shifts the weight from her front leg to her back, getting ready to kick herself off the building.

“Wait!” Tim exclaims, grabbing her arm.

“No waiting,” she says firmly, the lines of her mask cast in a hard scowl.

“Okay. Fine,” Tim says, letting go albeit reluctantly. “Normally, I would say that we should think up a plan, but since you’re being so annoyingly persistent—”

“Heroic—”

“— _heroic_ , and I’m feeling kind of generous, I’ll let you jump in.”

Cass’ mask contorts into something of a smile then she’s dropping down, the wind whipping her hair around wildly. Her cape flies up above her arms. She looks like an avenging angel, swooping down upon her prey. Tim allows himself a moment to shake away the creeps from that image, then follows her down soon after. They take the men down quickly and easily, tying them together and kicking their weapons away. Tim inspects the van, checking under the seats and inside the back for more weapons or stolen goods. Once he’s sure the van is clean, he hops up to the roof where Cass is waiting and gets Oracle on the line.

“Oracle.”

“ _Status?_ ”

“We’ve got the men from the van. Send the police our way.”

“ _Sure thing. Anything juicy in the van?_ ”

“Nothing, unfortunately.”

“ _Alright. Good job, Red. What a bang to end your party with, am I right?_ ” Barbara’s voice turns light and playful.

“Yeah,” Tim says, shaking off the adrenaline, “it was just what I needed.”

“ _Good to hear. See you later, Red._ ”

“See you… wait.” A thought occurs to Tim. “Oracle?”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Do you happen to know where Hood is?”

“ _Any particular reason why you’d need to know that?_ ”

Trust Barbara to not be as liberal with her information when it comes to Jason. “Out of concern.”

Barbara tuts. “ _Don’t think I’m just going to give…_ ”

A sharp pain explodes in Tim’s neck. He cries out and stumbles forward, collapsing onto his knee. Cass whirls around at the sound. She catches Tim before he falls flat on his face, then lays him softly down onto his back.

He hears Barbara saying something in his ear, her voice urgent and loud, but Tim can’t make it out. His hearing is muffled, his vision is growing dark. He can’t feel any part of his body. A paralytic. Before his vision goes out completely, he sees Cass jump over the railing again, flying somewhere down where Tim can’t see. He lets his eyes drift upwards toward the night sky. The last thing he sees is the grey smog swirling angrily above him before he loses consciousness.

***

Tim awakens sometime in the early hours of morning. His neck aches, from the dart as well as the awkward position he was in for most of the night.

He recoils in shock when he sees a body next to the couch on the floor, then relaxes when he realises it’s Jason, fast asleep. Or previously fast asleep. Jason wakes up when he feels Tim jolting around on the couch. He turns his head to face Tim, his eyes still closed.

“Go to sleep,” Jason says, his voice thick with sleep.

“I’ve been asleep.”

“Being tranqed isn’t sleeping.”

“I’ll go to sleep if you get off the _floor_.”

“M’already here.”

“Yeah. Get off.”

“Shh. Wanna sleep.”

Tim sighs. He reaches down and half-carries half-drags Jason off the floor, towards the hallway. There’s no way he’s going to drag Jason’s 200-pound body up the stairs to his actual bed, so he settles for the guest room. He throws Jason’s body down on the bed gently—as gently as a throw can be—and lays the quilt haphazardly over him. He stands there for a moment, swaying, battling sleep, then decides that it’s a losing battle and faceplants on the bed beside Jason. He’s out before he can count to three.

***

 _Breaking news_ flashes across the television screen. The news presenter reports that nine men were arrested after having being found to be involved in an attempted mugging down in southern Gotham.

“Crazy,” Jason says, tutting from the kitchen. “Just crazy. Nine men and they couldn’t even do it.”

Tim snorts, tries looking over at him, forgets his stiff neck, and hisses in pain.

“Your neck still hurting?” Jason walks over behind Tim and runs his fingers lightly over Tim’s nape. The couch dips a little with Jason’s weight.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

Fingers clasp the back of his neck gently. “Where does it ache? Here?” Jason’s fingers move, dancing along his skin to the side of his neck.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

Jason presses in, the callouses of his fingers rough against Tim’s skin. Tim tenses, unused to having Jason this close.

“Relax,” Jason says. “Turn your head.”

Tim does as he’s told, melting back into Jason’s touch, Jason applying pressure to the knot. Tim sighs contentedly, his feet rubbing against each other in contentment. “What happened last night?” Tim asks, as Jason repeats the process.

“Cass brought you back here. Figured since I was closest she’d just ask me for help.”

“You weren't out?”

“Not last night.”

“You’re always out on Sundays.” Jason shrugs noncommittally. “Well, did she find who did it?”

“They were all part of the same gang. Those muggers, the six in the van. There were three in another building. One of ‘em tranqed you with some pretty nifty stuff. They don’t sell it on the streets of Gotham, that’s for sure. Anyway, Cass caught ‘em, the nine of them were arrested. You just saw them.”

“I’m just wondering… what was the motive? Why mug an old man, why speed away, why tranq me in the neck?”

Jason’s fingers wander up into Tim’s hair, giving him a little scratch before moving away from the couch. “Maybe they’re just one of those do-shit-because-we-can gangs. No real purpose. They exist and they suck.”

“You’re done?” Tim asks, immediately missing the feel of Jason’s hands.

“Hope you weren’t expecting a happy ending,” Jason calls teasingly.

“No,” Tim mumbles, rubbing his neck. “But I mean… you missed my birthday.”

“Oh yeah, your birthday. Forgot about that,” Jason says, sarcasm biting his words. He comes back with a mug of tea and hands it to Tim before sitting down beside him. He tilts his head back, eyes meeting Tim’s. “Unfortunately, that wasn’t the first thing on my mind when Cass dragged your limp body into my apartment at one in the morning.”

“Please. What’s a party without someone passing out at the end?”

Jason rolls his eyes. He leans forward and pinches Tim’s cheek. “I can’t decide if I’m a terrible influence on you or if you’re just blossoming into the fine young man you were always meant to be.”

Tim slaps Jason’s hand away, rubbing his cheek. “Another item to add to the list of surprising things the Red Hood does: pinching cheeks.”

Jason gets up and stretches languidly, his shirt riding up, revealing the fine hairs on his navel. “The Red Hood does a lot of surprising things. He’s unpredictable.”

“Speaking in third person is another?”

Jason smiles smugly, letting his arms drop. “The Red Hood thinks speaking in third person makes everything more exciting than they really are.”

“The Red Hood sounds like a giant idiot.”

“The Red Hood is hurt,” Jason says, clutching his chest dramatically. “The Red Hood also wants to know more about this list later.” He smirks, raising a brow.

Tim feels his cheeks colour. “It’s not a real list,” he objects, because unless they’re written down, they definitely do not exist.

Jason just snorts and ruffles Tim’s hair. “Well, the Red Hood has to go.” He snatches his jacket, helmet and keys off the table and makes his way to the garage.

Tim fights down the feeling of disappointment creeping up in his chest. “Where are you going? It’s two in the afternoon.”

“I’m off to clean up a giant mess.”

“What?”

“See you later!” Jason rushes out the door. A moment later, Tim hears the sound of his motorcycle start up and speed away. Tim furrows his brows, but thinks nothing of it.

Cass and Steph come by a little later to check on him, Cass looking slightly hunched over and apologetic, and a scornful look gracing Steph’s features.

“Why the hell didn’t you two wake me up?” she demands as she marches into the apartment. “You left me sleeping in that hallway like an idiot!”

“We didn’t think—”

“Exactly. You _didn’t_ think.” Tim is frightened by how much she sounds like a concerned mother. She even looks like one, standing in front of Tim with her hands on her hips, chest puffed out. “I was so scared. You could’ve been killed!”

“We… couldn’t have been killed,” Tim says slowly. “Cass was there.”

Steph’s entire demeanour seems to change in the blink of an eye. She relaxes, giving Cass the softest smile he thinks he’s ever seen on her face. “I know. And I’m grateful,” she says. She turns back to Tim. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have woken me up. You could’ve at least told me you were going out. I woke up alone and had no idea where you guys were. Seeing you hurt knowing I could’ve helped… it’s not a good feeling.” From the way she not-so-subtly captures and squeezes Cass’ hand, she’s probably not just talking to Tim.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Really.”

She gives him a pitying look. “It’s okay. I really should be letting you relax, you look like shit actually. I didn’t mean to barge in and yell at you.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

She plops down beside Tim, her arm along the back of the couch, behind Tim’s head. Cass sits herself on the small recliner opposite them. “Tell me next time you go on an impromptu patrol, yeah?” she says, her usual playful tone creeping back into her voice. “God knows baby needs two sitters.”

“Do you even patrol? I thought you only played rooftop tag,” he quips.

“Hilarious.”

“Your… neck?” a quiet voice pipes up from the recliner.

Tim looks at Cass, who still looks as sheepish as she first did when she walked in. “It’s fine, Cass. Barely even a sting. If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t even be here.”

The corner of Cass’ mouth lifts in a fractional smile, and Tim smiles back.

“She told me this was the first place she thought to bring you,” Steph buts in. She aims a pointed look at Cass. “That was surprising.”

“Why?” Cass asks.

She shrugs. “I guess I wasn’t expecting you to trust Jason. You didn’t contact me or Bruce. You went for him.”

“Jason was closest.”

“Closest. Right.”

Tim sighs. “Look, Steph, I know you have your hang ups about him, but he—”

“I’m giving him a chance,” she states, surprising Tim. “Cass seems to trust him. And I trust Cass’ judgment. But if he gets one foot out of line you better believe nothing will stop me from coming after him.”

Tim is touched. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t say I’d get all buddy-buddy with him again. Besides, someone got a little jealous last time.”

Cass shifts uncomfortably opposite them.

“ _Speaking_ of that,” Tim says, adjusting his position to face Steph, “when were either of you planning on telling me that you two are dating?”

“Jeez, Tim, you’re so chatty today, when are you gonna let us go home?” Steph moans.

“You’re the one who came here to check on me,” Tim protests.

“Actually, _Cass_ dragged me over here because _she_ wanted to check on you. I didn’t want any part of this except to yell at you.”

“Well, I’m grateful for that. At least I have _someone_ looking out for me.”

“Oh, believe me, Casanova,” Steph drawls, wiggling her finger obnoxiously in front of Tim’s face, “Cass here isn’t the only one looking out for that cute tush.”

“What’s that?”

“Welp,” Steph jumps up, heading quickly towards the door, “that’s our cue to go, Cass.”

Cass follows Steph out, uttering a quick goodbye to Tim, who waves her off with an amused smile.

He’s in the middle of working out when Tim gets a call from Oracle about suspicious activity in an abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of uptown Gotham.

“I’m on my way,” he says. “Anything else I should know?”

“ _Be prepared,_ ” she says simply, then cuts off.

Unusual, but Tim’s dealt with a lack of information a dozen times. When he arrives, landing on the penthouse balcony, he finds that the door has been left ajar. The wide windows reveal a portion the cluttered abandoned mess inside, but there are no lights on, so the inner spaces of the penthouse are completely hidden from Tim’s view. He doesn’t hear anything, but he makes sure not to alert anyone inside of his presence, inching his way inside the penthouse slowly and silently, avoiding stepping on any rubbish or glass that may be lining the floor.

A thump sounds from the left wall. Someone in the other room? Tim reaches for his bo staff as he creeps his way towards the source of the noise, extending it out to his side.

Another thump, and suddenly the lights are on, blinding Tim temporarily. He spins around, looking for the culprit and—

“Happy birthday!” Jason bobs in happily, his helmet off, carrying a cake in his hands.

“Jay?” Tim lowers his staff.

“No. The Joker.”

“Not a good joke,” he says, making a face. He looks around at the room, taken aback by what he sees. There are streamers thrown haphazardly throughout the room, balloons bobbing up and down in one corner, garbage swept half-heartedly off the furniture. He looks at this mess of a penthouse and feels a warm feeling tickle his stomach.

“Oracle was in on this?”

Jason shrugs. “Oracle is in on everything I do. She loves me too much.”

Oracle’s voice chimes in on the commlink: “ _That’s a lie. Hood owes me one._ ”

Tim laughs. “Wow,” Tim huffs, still looking appreciatively around. “You’re telling me this is something the Red Hood would do? Throw a surprise party? Complete with streamers, balloons, and cake?”

“Yes, definitely,” Jason nods solemnly, putting the cake down on the dilapidated coffee table. “Complete with custom lustre dust in the icing because I know how you rich boys like your cakes.”

“Custom what dust? _You_ made my cake? You know, this isn’t even _caring_ territory anymore. This is like.” Tim swipes a bit of icing off the cake and swallows slowly as he thinks. “This is like _sweetheart_ territory.”

“This is best friends forever territory,” Jason corrects him.

“Blegh.”

Jason laughs, wriggling down onto the floor, his back settled against the neglected leather couch. Tim sits next to him. Jason pulls the coffee table closer to them, then drags out his backpack from beside the couch.

“Y’know,” he starts, reaching into his bag. Tim hears the sound of crinkling paper. “No birthday party is complete without alcohol.”

Tim scoffs disbelievingly as Jason pulls out a bottle of whiskey and some Coke. “You wanna make me drink again? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Oh, I remember,” Jason says, brows raised. “And it was hilarious. Don’t be such a downer, Timbo, to get good at drinking, you gotta drink.”

“What happened to never letting me drink again?”

“Changed my mind.”

“You’re a madman.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Jason shakes his head solemnly. Then, he hops onto his feet. “Sit there and eat your cake. I’ll get some cups.”

“I need candles too, you know. _Birthday_ cake?” Tim takes his mask off and tosses it onto the table.

“Didn’t you already have a big birthday blowout with the fam?” Jason asks as he heads towards the other room, presumably the kitchen. “You know, the one I wasn’t invited to?”

Tim cringes. “I did. I’m sorry you weren’t invited. Bruce said—”

“Yeah, I can guess.” Jason’s voice takes on a strained note and Tim wants so badly to rewind to a few moments before.

“But, I mean, we can do it again. So it’s complete,” Tim insists. “I’d have celebrated with the entire family if we do this properly.”

“I guess so,” Jason says, which doesn’t entirely put Tim’s mind at ease, but Jason’s humouring him, so it’s something.

Tim hears Jason fumbling around in the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. A few minutes later, he sets down two glasses and a large dusty candle onto the table in front of Tim.

“What’re you gonna do with that?” Tim asks.

Jason takes the candle and thrusts it into the centre of the cake. The cake splits in half, chunks falling out across the table.

Tim protests noisily. “Jason, what the heck? That’s so gross!”

“There are no birthday candles around here.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve just used a match, you didn’t have to throw that gross candle into the damn cake! You ruined it!”

“Hush.” Jason takes his lighter out and lights the candle.

Tim watches with his arms crossed as Jason begins to sing roughly, his voice wavering slightly with embarrassment, his cheeks pink. Tim is entranced.

“ _Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Timbo, happy birthday to you._ ” He clears his throat. “Hip-hip hooray,” he finishes hurriedly, “now blow your candle.”

Tim does. Reluctantly. He leans back against the couch and crosses his arms again. The ruined cake sits untouched on the table, the rose candle sitting upright innocently in the centre of the mess. Tim stares dubiously at the mess. “I’m not eating that.”

“Neither am I. Honestly, it was already off anyway. The green stuff wasn’t colouring or anything, it was mold.” He laughs as he dodges the punch Tim aims at his arm. “Hey, it’s the thought that counts. But now that that’s done and over with, we can get to drinking!”

Tim wipes a hand over his face, disbelieving. Jason pours the whiskey and Coke into a cup and hands it to Tim. Tim scrunches his nose up, braces himself for the oncoming burn, then downs the drink. He cringes as the vile liquid slowly inches down into his esophagus, the burning feeling spiking the roof of his mouth and back of his throat. Tim finds that alcohol is one of the hardest things to consume—next to only those kale smoothies he used to find in Barbara’s fridge. He gasps and slams his cup onto the table.

Jason laughs at him as he drinks his own, then pours them both another drink.

“Jesus,” Tim whines, “how many do I have to have?”

“How old are you now?”

“Nineteen—no. No. Not nineteen.”

“I’ll count ours together!”

“ _We’re_ not drinking nineteen of these.”

“ _Teamwork_ ,” Jason says, his voice breathy and high, downing his next cup.

Tim shoots him a glare before picking up his own cup. He stares at it for a bit before putting it to his lips, taking a tiny sip. Jason smacks him on the back, making the whiskey spill all over his pants. Tim groans in annoyance.

“No sipping!” Jason chastises him.

Tim stares at Jason as he drinks what’s left in the cup in defiance, slamming the cup down on the table once again. “There!” he exclaims.

“Attaboy!” Jason says, taking another large gulp of his own.

Tim coughs as the whiskey burns his throat again, not yet recovered from the first shot. “I’m done,” he chokes out, “I’m so done.”

“Alright, you’re done,” Jason says softly, taking pity on him, patting him on the back.

Tim heaves a thankful sigh and leans back on the couch. He stares up at the ceiling, spotting a weird-looking stain on the faded white paint. “I can’t believe you threw me a party… with just the two of us drinking out of plastic cups… in an old, disgusting, abandoned penthouse. _And_ you ruined my mouldy cake with a mouldy candle.”

“It’s still a penthouse,” Jason says. Tim admits he makes a pretty compelling argument. “And besides, I couldn’t surprise you at my own apartment if you were going to be there the whole day. Actually, maybe I could’ve found an excuse to kick you out, but this was easier.”

“Breaking into an abandoned penthouse on the other side of the city was easier than kicking me out of your own apartment?” Tim queries doubtfully.

Jason looks at him, and Tim’s sure he isn’t imagining it when Jason’s eyes soften. “ _Way_ easier.”

Tim huffs.

Jason turns away, rifling through his backpack and pulling out a small package—a gift, wrapped neatly in red and green packaging with a yellow bow on top. Tim smirks knowingly at the wrapping.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought this was a Christmas gift,” he jokes as Jason hands him the present. It doesn’t feel heavy, but it doesn’t feel very light either. He starts untying the bow.

“Wait!” Jason says, stilling his fingers. “Don’t open it now. Do it later.”

“Oh, okay.” Tim keeps it on his lap, cradled lightly in his palms. It’s hard keeping the smile off his face as he looks down at the gift. Sure, he got presents from everyone else but this feels… so much more special. This is Jason. This is Jason, and Jason cares about him, and. And that’s it. It’s special because it’s Jason.

Jason, who is staring at him now, his lips curled up into a wet smile, his cheeks flushed and hair tousled. Eyes soft in the dim light.

Tim feels the urge to kiss him. So he does.

He kisses Jason once, a small peck on his soft lips, savouring the alcohol and the taste that is so uniquely Jason. He kisses Jason again, his lips parted slightly this time, then waits, waits for a reciprocation, a reaction, _anything_. They’re so close that their noses are touching, so close that Tim can count every freckle on his skin. Tim starts doubting for a moment, that maybe he read the signs wrong, maybe he shouldn’t have been so forward…

But Jason leans in, returning the kiss. Tim’s heart swells. Jason’s breath is hot, spilling across his face each time they part. Tim slides over, closer, sitting himself on Jason’s lap. He feels Jason’s hands come up, hovering over his waist. Tim runs his fingers through Jason’s hair, pulling, scratching. It’s messy, it’s muddled, but there’s a fervent, urgent need shared between them—the likes of which Tim has never felt before.

But Jason is still hesitating, his hands still barely touching his waist—he’s still being so gentle, so _careful_ —and that’s not what Tim wants at all. He knots his fists in Jason’s shirt, pulling him harder, closer against him. Jason groans, a deep, low growl in his throat, then finally envelops Tim in his arms, getting rid of all the space that shouldn’t be between them. The warmth feels so good, it feels like the tension that has been bubbling between them for the past six months is finally, _finally_ being released, and all that’s left is him and Jason and the delicious tremors travelling along his nerves.

Tim whimpers.

Jason pulls back suddenly, like he’s been burned. “Shit,” he whispers.

“Jason?” Tim questions breathily, his eyes half-closed, still lost in the feel of the kiss. “What is it?”

“What have I done?”

“Jason?” Tim looks up at the sound of Jason’s voice, panic and guilt garbling his words.

“This is so m—messed up.” Jason puts his hands in his hair, staring wide-eyed down at the ground.

“What are you talking about?” Tim slides off Jason, the position on his lap feeling hugely inappropriate now.

“I shouldn’t be doing this. You’re— _fuck_. _What the fuck_.” Jason gets off the floor, breathing heavily, his chest rising up and down frantically.

“Jason—no, wait—” Tim stands, following after him.

“I’m _sorry_.” Jason makes a dash for the window, grabbing his bag. In his haste, he knocks over the table, sending the ruined cake to the floor. He jumps out, sending glass flying, and Tim watches as he grapples away.

Tim looks at the shattered window, the smashed cake on the floor, the unopened present. What… what _happened_? Things were going so well.

His chest tightens, and his legs give out from under him. He collapses on the floor, heaving a sob. The wind picks up, whistling harshly through the hole in the window. A chill runs down his spine, shaking him to his core. Things were going so well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [weird-things-first](http://weird-things-first.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr has drawn some [really awesome art](http://weird-things-first.tumblr.com/post/147821634801/jay-and-tim-jaytim-july-2016-fanart-for-the/) for the previous chapter, so y’all should check it out and give ‘em some love!

It takes a while for Jason to do anything other than stare at his bookshelf, _Wuthering Heights_ ’ glittering letters catching his eye, mocking him. He’s sitting on his bed, in a safe house on the other side of the city he’s sure Bruce doesn’t know about. He’s rubbing his feet together agitatedly, and when he exhales, his breaths are shaky.

He isn’t going to panic. He’s not. He can’t—not right now while he’s all alone. Except he sort of is, and desperately, his mind conjures up the memory of Roy telling him something about grounding whenever it all got to be too much. A number game. Describe five things you can touch—or was it see?—or maybe—

Fuck, he wishes he paid more attention. He tries again, this time making up his own game. Describe five ways you fucked yourself over. One: he threw Tim a party for his birthday. Two: he baked him a cake. Three: he gave him a present. Four: Tim leaned in and they—

Jason freezes and takes a shuddery breath. A tingle of something like arousal stirs in his belly when he remembers the feel of soft lips on his—and he immediately wants to throw up. What has he done? What has he become? Phantom fingers seem to brush over his face, over the places Tim touched, and the excited noises he made seem to echo over and over again in his mind, taunting him, reminding him. It seems as if now there is another name to add to the list of what exactly the Red Hood is—he is a killer, an outlaw—a _pervert_. How, after months of stagnancy, of simple day-by-day life with Tim—how did it come to this? These sudden feelings that have climbed up like a ravaging fire, stinging and destroying everything they had built. A hysteric laugh escapes his lips. He decides he can’t stay like this for long—it isn’t productive at all—so he picks up his phone and tries to steady himself enough to call.

Kory picks up on the second ring. “ _Jason?_ ” she breathes through the line. “ _What’s wrong?_ ”

Her voice is layered with concern. Jason frowns and looks up at his clock. 2 am. Fuck. First he kisses his fucking brother then he wakes Kory up at two a-fucking-m for what? Because he’s immature and can’t keep himself or his own emotions in check? Because he’s so helpless that he can’t handle issues on his own, and he treats his friends like guardians he can run to whenever things go wrong? A helpless sob escapes his chest. Fucking brilliant. The Red Hood, man-child of the underworld.

“ _Jason?_ ” she asks, and Jason hears her shifting, probably sitting up in bed.

“I fucked up, Kory.” His voice is barely above a whisper, scared that if he speaks any louder she’ll hear it shake.

“ _Jason…_ ” There’s a groaning noise on the other end of the line—Roy—and Kory says, “ _I've got you on speaker, Roy’s awake._ ”

“ _Jay, what’s up?_ ” Roy’s sleep-addled voice rumbles down the line.

He regrets bringing them into this, and he absolutely hates that both his friends are awake to hear him like this, in such a vulnerable state, but they’re awake, and they’re willing to listen, and for that, Jason tries his hardest to be grateful. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Fuck, this is gonna sound fucking stupid, but please, just.” He doesn’t need to continue for them to get it.

“ _Of course, Jason,_ ” Kory says, at the same time Roy says, “ _M’listening, Jay._ ”

Jason tells them about what happened that day, and they listen silently without interrupting, and because Jason is surprised at the catharsis he feels by speaking about it, and because he feels like they have the right to know as his friends and—for lack of a better word—lovers, he then proceeds to tell them everything, from the day he found Tim lying underneath that pile of rubble, up to his birthday.

There is nothing after that from their end. Silence. Jason predicts an onslaught of names and accusations, or even just to be hung up on, and so he prepares to be without friends from this point onwards. Kory, however, says, “ _I don’t quite understand what the problem is._ ”

“What?” Though he was just scared to lose her a few seconds ago, Jason can’t help the annoyance spiking his tone. “I just told you.”

“ _No. All you’ve told us is that you’re in love. I don’t see what the problem is with the kissing._ ”

“ _What_?” he snaps. “I didn’t say I was in _love_.”

“ _You’re an idiot,_ ” she says, equally as annoyed, at the same time Roy interjects, “ _Hey, wait a sec. Tell us about the kiss again._ ”

“We got drunk, and we kissed,” Jason answers succinctly, and he knows he isn’t being helpful, but the impatience is flaring up again. “Like, what kind of person does that make me? I made him drink once before and he stroked my hair and he fucking hated it afterwards, but then I made him drink again on his fucking birthday, and he fucking _crawled_ into my lap and _kissed_ me, then I left because _what the fuck_ —”

“ _Wait—_ he _kissed_ you?” Roy sounds surprised.

Jason doesn’t see the reason for pause. “Yeah, he made the first move, but I—”

“ _So he_ wanted _to kiss you! Jay, you know that changes everything! He likes you! He_ wants you!” Roy’s voice goes up a pitch with excitement. “ _I was thinking_ you _did something untoward…_ ”

Jason feels his stomach churn. This isn’t what he was expecting. He was expecting them to yell at him, to tell him off for even laying a finger on Tim. He _wanted_ them to be disappointed, to be angry, to completely cut themselves off from him. And now that none of that has happened, he isn’t sure what to expect, what to prepare for, and the not-knowing makes his anxiety grow. “This isn’t making me feel any better. He’s my brother, you shouldn’t be—”

“ _Christ, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. Let me lay it to you straight: he likes you, he kissed you. And you—you left him there, didn’t you say? You’re probably sitting there in one of your safe houses like the self-pitying bastard you are—you_ are, _don’t argue about this with me_ —” Roy says witheringly when Jason makes a noise in protest, “ _—and now he’s probably angry and confused because he thinks you don’t like him back._ ”

Jason tries not to let Roy’s words get to him too much. “I do like him, just not in that way—”

“ _Kory seems to think differently. From what she heard, it sounds like those feelings aren’t entirely one-sided._ ”

 _Again with this nonsense?_ Jason thinks. He thinks back to which part of his account might have possibly given Kory the idea that Jason loves Tim, any tiny inkling at all, and fails to come up with any. “We’re family,” he says flatly.

“ _No, not really._ ”

“We technically are.”

“ _Technically, you’re dead._ ”

Jason doesn’t know why he laughs, but he does. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“ _But you’re still not convinced. Jay, you just told us that he kissed you and stroked your_ hair. _Look, man, the heart wants what the heart wants,_ ” Roy states solemnly. Jason imagines him sitting there, nodding, proud of himself now that he’s imparted his wisdom.

And it’s a crazy idea, but when Jason thinks it over… Stroking his hair? The kiss? Those are all outright and obvious signs, but… for fuck’s sake, he just doesn’t understand why Tim _would_. He says, “Yeah, I mean, I guess I can believe that _he_ has feelings for me,” to tide Roy over.

Then Jason tries to think about it, about loving Tim, but he can’t get over the fact that it’s inappropriate, that he’s older than Tim and he should be looking after the kid. Not _fucking_ him. Plus, a person like him? He’d be more likely to hurt Tim than ever make him happy, and hurting him isn’t something he wants to do. Not when Tim’s smile makes him feel good about himself, almost like he actually deserves it, like he’s finally doing something _right_. Not when something as simple as Tim’s laugh—his real laugh, not the fake one he puts on around strangers and that creepy overly-flirty cashier from the corner shop—brightens his whole fucking day like it’s the second coming of Jesus.

His heart starts pounding harder and he thinks maybe it’s the panic creeping in. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t think… I don’t think I’m capable of it. Love, or whatever. Like, me dying? Me being thrown into the Lazarus Pit? What if it fucked me up? For good?”

“ _Jason, you’re not a robot,_ ” Kory’s voice chimes in, soft. Fond. “ _You still feel things. You love me and Roy, and even though you never say it, we know. Perhaps you’re just… inexperienced. Perhaps you just don’t know that you’re in love._ ”

“ _You love us, Jay,_ ” Roy supplies helpfully. Probably sitting there with a goofy smile on his face.

Jason groans.

“ _Talk to him,_ ” Roy says.

Jason groans even louder.

***

Jason puts off talking to Tim for as long as he can. It’s not like he has to try hard to avoid him. He went back to his apartment and Tim wasn’t there. He checked some of his other safe houses and Tim wasn’t at any of them either. He hasn’t seen Tim since that night. He assumes he’s gone back to the manor, or to his own house, and Jason hasn’t made any attempts to contact him.

He can still feel Tim’s presence all throughout his apartment though. Random bits of Tim’s clothes scattered all over the place, even though Jason had told him off for it many times before— _“If you’re gonna be staying here, you have to pull your weight. I do not appreciate a messy home.”_ The book Tim picked out, but didn’t really read, still open on the counter. His half-drunk glass of orange juice sitting next to the sink.

Jason doesn’t touch them, doesn’t make any attempts to put them away or give them back. He leaves them there, right where they are, and goes back to his safe house.

It isn’t too hard to get back into his old routine. Sleep till eleven, work out, patrol the streets and avoid Batman as much as possible, come back in at four in the morning, sleep, repeat. Rotate safe houses every Saturday. Restock every Sunday.

He doesn’t see Tim at all when he goes on patrol. He thinks maybe Tim’s avoiding his route. He doesn’t mind. Or at least that’s what he tries convincing himself to feel. In actuality, he does mind. He deliberately branches out on his patrols, expanding out towards neighbourhoods he thinks Tim would patrol. He never made an effort to memorise Tim’s route, and realising that he’s never made an effort to do a lot of things and will probably never get to weighs on his conscience heavily.

He goes out to a bar one night to drown his sorrows away. A few girls start flirting with him, a few guys do too, and Jason flirts back out of habit. He’s eight beers in when he realises that he hates it. He hates the triviality, the shallowness—he fucking hates it all, and he wonders how he ever lived like this, but he ends up walking home with one guy anyway—black hair, blue eyes—and Jason tells himself that he’s a narcissist instead of—instead of _whatever_ —until Dick whistles at him from a rooftop.

Jason looks up at him, then back at the guy under his arm. As if he’s being pulled out of a stupor, Jason removes his arm and apologises. “I’m sorry, dude. Change of plans.”

The guy looks confused. He puts a hand around Jason’s wrist and asks for his number, but Jason ignores him and brushes his hand off, running off to meet Dick.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Dick says when Jason joins him on the roof. He’s gesturing down at the man Jason left on the sidewalk. “Poor guy.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“Maybe.”

Jason waits, because Dick hasn’t done anything to get much of a rise out of him yet, and Jason’s grown enough that he doesn’t immediately go looking for a fight. ‘Immediately’ being the key word.

Dick smiles, but even with the mask on, Jason knows it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Tim isn’t talking much these days and I figured—”

“You figured what?” Jason snaps, the anger flaring up. Ten seconds isn’t bad. “That it was my fault?”

“Well, isn’t it?” And Dick sounds so calm throwing all these accusations around.

The worst thing about it is that he’s probably right. Whatever Tim’s going through now, whatever he’s feeling—it probably is Jason’s fault. Though he won’t give Dick the satisfaction of an answer, because he doesn’t have the _right_ to it anyway. Instead, he offers Dick a sneer. “It isn’t very polite to stick your nose into other people’s business.”

“I’m taking that as a yes. And it’s my business when I find out that Jason happens to be falling back into old habits like shooting people and getting drunk and taking random people from the bar home.”

“I’m not killing anyone,” he says defensively, because he _isn’t_. “And he isn’t random.”

“What’s his name, then?”

Jason thinks for a moment. “Greavy? Greddy?” If he weren’t drunk he’d have more tact answering the question, but he is, so.

Dick sighs. “So, Mr. Greddy isn’t a random person from the bar, then?”

“Hey, I’ll fuck who I want.”

Dick lifts a brow. “Really. Then what about Tim?”

“What _about_ Tim?”

“How would Tim feel about you doing that?”

All of a sudden, Jason is struck with the realisation that Dick knows more than he does. Dick Grayson—with his stupid hair and terrible history with women—knows more about Tim’s feelings than he does, and probably has for months now. But Jason’s inherently stubborn, so he plays the dumb card and says, “Why the fuck would I care?”

“Fine. You need me to fucking spell it out for you, Jason?” Dick hisses, advancing on Jason and prodding his chest with a finger.

Jason stumbles back because he’s drunk and because he hasn’t heard Dick swear like this before.

“Tim stays at yours for six months and we don’t hear a peep from you guys, except for when we do, and Tim is all smiles and heart eyes at you, and now all of a sudden, Tim is back at the manor, and he won’t eat, won’t sleep, and won’t even talk to anyone—what the fuck do you think we’re all thinking?” His chest rises and falls quickly, and judging by his stance he’s a moment away from greeting Jason’s face with a slug.

Jason’s own chest freezes up. Tim was out there, hurting, and he hadn’t known… He hadn’t thought about it, what this could be doing to Tim. He _hurt_ Tim. After everything, after trying so hard to look after him, he still managed to fuck it all up. He truly is the worst man alive. He feels extremely vulnerable all of a sudden, realising that he doesn’t have his own mask on, and his open face is free for Dick to read.

Dick continues, “We’re thinking he’s been hurt. We’re thinking he’s had his heart broken. Tell me I’m wrong, Jay. Tell me you didn’t hurt him.” But Jason’s heart is pounding loud in his ears, drowning out Dick’s voice, and Dick’s face falls when he realises Jason isn’t going to deny it. “I told you to look after him.”

“I did,” Jason insists, but his voice sounds small.

“Then what happened? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did something.” Dick waits for him to answer, then scoffs disbelievingly when Jason stays quiet. “Do you want me to just go back to the manor and pretend like nothing’s wrong?”

Jason can’t look him in the eye. “What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him.”

Jason shuts his eyes, exhaling harshly. “He hates me,” he says, like a child.

“Maybe he’s right to,” Dick says softly. He touches Jason’s shoulder softly, a gesture of comfort. Jason lets himself lean into the touch, seeking the warmth he hasn’t felt in weeks.

In a moment of self-control, he collects himself, shrugging Dick off and straightening back up. Dick’s hand lingers in the air for a moment. Jason watches as Dick, frowning, clenches it for a second before letting it drop to his side.

“Close yourself off again, then.” Dick smiles, but it’s more like a grimace. “You’re good at that.”

Jason turns away, done with the conversation. As soon as he does though, he sees something that stops him in his tracks.

He stops breathing. “Tim?”

Tim walks out from behind a brick structure and stands there on the rooftop in his civvies—God knows how long he’d been listening for. Jason forgets about Dick entirely, walking towards him, but then he sees Tim’s face in the light and freezes.

Tim looks pale—paler than usual—gaunt, and his eyes are red. Jason feels rocks grow in his chest, weighing him down, paralysing him. What happened to him? It’s only been three weeks.

Then Tim is crying and Jason is fucked.

“Hey,” Jason says softly, though he’s fighting the scream that wants to tear itself out of his throat. “Hey. Don’t cry.” He can feel Dick’s eyes on him as he takes Tim into his arms and rubs his back. This. This is what Jason is familiar with. This is what he is good at.

Tim murmurs something through his tears, but Jason doesn’t catch it, so he leans down and asks him to say it again. “I missed you,” Tim repeats softly, and Jason feels torn in a thousand different ways.

“I missed you, too.” He feels Tim shiver against him. “Are you cold?”

“Tim,” Dick says, and when Jason looks over, he’s wearing a dark look on his face.

Tim ignores him, or he doesn’t hear him, because he burrows his face deeper into Jason’s chest, fingers tight around his jacket.

“Tim,” Dick tries again, louder, harsher.

“Dick.” Jason knows that they both know who Tim is going home with tonight. “I’ve got him.”

“You said that last time and look what happened,” Dick says, pulling them all the way back to the start of their conversation.

“It’s fine, Dick.” Tim pulls away from Jason to look at Dick. “It’s fine.” He looks back at Jason. And smiles.

Jason is so superbly fucked he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

Dick scoffs, but when Jason and Tim leave, he doesn’t follow.

***

“Talk to me, Jay.” Tim takes Jason’s hands in his when they’re sat down on Jason’s couch, and Jason doesn’t try to pull away. He’s sure Tim sees the book, his juice, his clothes strewn all about the place, exactly where he left them, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything about them.

Jason laughs but there’s no amusement behind it. It’s somewhat delirious actually; he started the day off so not expecting it to end like this: Tim back in his life again, looking at him so fondly like nothing ever happened. “You’re back here. Again. With me.” Tim nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. After everything, he’s still so forgiving, and it wrenches at the rocks in Jason’s chest, rattling him around and stinging him. He shuts his eyes, exhales, trying to push the weight out. “I’m just so… so fucking tired of fighting. Of being the one to hurt you.”

Tim shrugs. “So let’s lay it all out.” He lets Jason’s hands go, giving him some space.

Jason feels helpless. He doesn’t know what to say, what to start with, so he just goes with the first thing that pops into his head. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to,” Tim says simply, like it is that simple. _Because I wanted to._ And maybe it is that simple for him, but he is young, and he doesn’t seem to understand the consequences of wanting something and diving right in without thinking it through. “Why did you run away?” Tim shoots back.

This, Jason doesn’t understand the need to explain. “You were drunk—”

“I knew what I was doing,” Tim asserts, but then his voice turns unsure. “But I didn’t—I didn’t ask if you were okay with it. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have forced it on you—”

Jason laughs because the thought has never crossed his mind that Tim could ever hurt _him_. “You didn’t force me. I wasn’t _opposed_ to kissing you.” And knowing that Tim’s judgment wasn’t entirely clouded takes part of the load off of Jason’s mind. But there’s another weight, one that has weighed on him the most: “But you’re my brother.”

Tim groans and scowls at him, like the answer appalls him. “Jason, we’re not—” Tim lets out a groan. “We’re not related. Not by blood. And technically, you’re dead.”

Jason sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Roy said exactly the same thing.” However, the technicality doesn’t help alleviate the guilt he feels. Bruce is _their_ dad. They are _both_ his sons.

“You talked to him about this?”

Jason looks up at Tim, noting the sudden change in tone of his voice. “Yeah. What?” he urges.

Tim bites his lip. Jason watches the movement, then looks up to see Tim watching him. There’s an odd look on his face that Jason can’t place. “You’re confused about what you feel. You went to him for help because you don’t understand how you feel.”

Jason shakes his head. “I was confused about what _you_ feel. I mean, I don’t understand why you feel that way. I don’t understand why you… _why_.”

Tim scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” Jason snaps.

“I like you because—because—” Tim exhales harshly. “I can’t believe you’re making me say this. I like you because you’re—” he scoffs, rubbing his hands over his face. When he looks up again, his face is set in determination. “You took me in and you looked after me, and you cared for me in a way that no one else has. You threw me a party, you gave me your stuff, you let me bum in your home, and you didn’t expect anything in return. The way you fight and the way you are is just—it’s so—I don’t know, look, I’m so bad at this, but give me a month and I could probably write a whole book about _why_. I mean,” he huffs, “I have _lists_.”

Jason sits still, taking it all in. No one has ever given him a confession like that before, and he isn’t sure how to respond. One thing he does know, however, is that Tim could say that about anyone—about Bruce, about Dick—and it would all ring true. He isn’t special in any way, there isn’t anything about him that should make him stand out to Tim over the rest.

“Are you—are you gonna say anything?” Tim sighs. “Okay, that wasn’t good—I probably should’ve practiced before but—look, you don’t know it but I—I used to take pictures of you whenever you weren’t looking and all I could think about was how… _is_ how good you are.” Tim grimaces. “You’re so… so _good_ and you don’t hear that enough from anyone so I should probably start saying it more often.”

Jason shakes his head. “I’m not good.”

Tim thumps his head back against the couch. “You said you were working on getting better. Why can’t you believe it when I say you _are_ getting better? In fact, you’re already better. You’re _good_. You save people all the time. You saved _me_.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Jason interjects, “let's say you do like me. Let’s say I am ‘good’. This’ll never work because I don’t feel the same way.”

Tim exhales shakily, his chest deflating in on himself. He shakes his head. “Are you _sure_? You just said you ‘weren’t opposed’ to kissing me. Are you sure you’re just not caught up in feeling guilty?”

This makes Jason pause. If he _is_ confusing his guilt with his feelings, what does he actually feel? If he takes away the guilt about his past, about being Tim’s predecessor, what does he actually _feel_?

“Jason, please,” Tim says, his tone growing more urgent. “Stop overthinking it. I get it, you’re confused because this is morally wrong or goes against your principles or whatever, but. You liked kissing me, right? Can’t you just go with your gut? Like you always do? Can’t you just go with what your heart is telling you? Damn everything else?” Jason shakes his head, his mind clouded with Tim’s words. “ _Please_. Look, even after everything, you don’t feel awkward? You don’t feel like I shouldn’t be here?” Tim looks more animated now, his eyes wild and pleading, shifting his legs up onto the couch.

“No,” Jason says, sure now.

Tim nods to himself. “Are you attracted to me?”

The feeling of Tim in his lap intrudes on his thoughts and the truth almost slips off of his tongue. “No,” he says quickly.

Tim shuts his eyes, exhaling shakily. “But we kissed—”

“You kissed me,” Jason corrects him. Tim’s eyes are growing wet, Jason can see it, but he doesn’t make any attempt to get closer to comfort him. “What do you wanna hear? Tell me.”

Tim’s bottom lip quivers. “I wanna hear that you care about me and that… you think about me.”

“I care about you. I think about you a lot. But not in the way that you want.”

Tim’s face scrunches up, and he looks off to the side, rubbing his eyes. “Okay.”

“Did you open your gift?” Jason blurts out quickly, because he has to know, and the further this conversation goes, the more he keeps disappointing Tim, and the further Tim gets away from him.

Tim smiles, a small smile. “I did. It was a key…”

Jason nods. “To my apartment.” The decision seemed simple to him at the time. Tim was always there, always taking up the empty spaces in Jason’s home, and it just felt right to let him come and go as he wanted, to let him enter and exit Jason’s life as he pleased. It was the next step, but looking back on it now, he can understand how it could be taken on a deeper meaning than that.

Tim’s eyes grow wetter, and Jason watches as he begins blinking fast to get rid of his tears. “Jason,” he whispers, then a whimper escapes his lips.

The sound sends a sharp pain through Jason’s chest, filling him up with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Tim laughs emptily. “Why are you like this? You couldn’t see a good thing if it hit you in the face!”

A good thing? No, he definitely knows when he has a good thing, and Tim was a good thing. But this? This has complicated things beyond good, and into something beyond that Jason isn’t quite sure he wants to reach for. “I don’t know,” he snaps, unable to keep the annoyance from invading his tone. “Maybe I’m too fucked up to see anything good in this. Maybe there is nothing good in this. Maybe you’ve just been looking at it all through rose-coloured glasses. I mean, you’ve always forgiven me too easily.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “But just because I was Robin doesn’t mean you have to put your complete faith in me.”

“That’s not the reason. Do you think I could do that with Damian, or even Dick? No, I only do it with _you_.”

“Why?” Jason cries. “Why do you only do it with me? Because we’re both the replaceable ones? The ones who don’t even fucking matter? Do you just cling to me because you can’t with anyone else?”

“That is _not_ the reason.” Tim’s hands clench into fists and and the twist in his lips is as close to a snarl as Jason has seen it. “I’ve already told you! Don’t you get why I keep forgiving you all the time, why I keep coming back to you? You’re so ignorant, you can’t even see it!” Tim stands up suddenly, and starts pacing across the room. “Why can’t you just accept that I might have feelings for you?”

“I told you I’ve already accepted it. Are you happy?”

“No! No, I’m not because I’ve ruined everything that we had going.” Tim’s eyes are wild and sad, and there’s a lump forming in Jason’s throat and he wants to reach out, but—

“We can still keep doing what we’ve been doing—” And now Jason’s on his feet too.

But they both know it isn’t that simple. No, they can’t go back to the way it was before. This _thing_ is always going to be there now, hanging over their heads, and they won’t be able to look at each other the same. Everyone knows, Jason realises. The spontaneous visits, the out-of-context things they said. Dick, Steph, Cass, Damian, even _Bruce_ —they’ve all known for so long and it’s taken him until now to get it. If only he’d known sooner, maybe he could have put an end to it before it twisted into this.

“I’m sorry. I told you. It’s been a long road getting from that Lazarus Pit to here. I’m sorry, Tim. I just can’t. I don’t feel the same about you.”

“That’s fine. That’s all you had to say.”

“Tim, come sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

“No, I have to leave.”

“Tim, you’re _crying_.”

Tim touches his face. He looks surprised when it comes away wet. “You don’t need to look after me anymore.” He makes his way to the door.

 _Is this it?_ “Tim, I—” He makes a strangled noise in his throat. _I need you, I need you to stay. Please don’t go._ He panics, because no matter how much he wants to, he can’t get the words out. This is it, this is the way he should have ended it months ago. Tim will be better off without him. All he ever does is hurt him anyway. Maybe he should let him go.

Tim turns the knob.

Fuck. He never really was great at letting go. “Tim, wait, please. If we were anyone else—if we weren't Robins, I’d—”

Tim freezes, his hand on the doorknob, a pained look on his face. Jason watches as Tim goes through what looks like an internal struggle. Jason takes a little comfort in the fact that he’s not the only one here whose emotions are waging a war inside his head. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Tim takes a deep breath. “You’d what?”

Jason shrugs, his shoulders barely lifting. “I’d give this a chance,” he admits.

Tim’s jaw shakes, his eyes filling with tears once more. “I hate you so much,” he says under his breath.

In a flash, Tim is there in front of him, grabbing Jason and pulling him down to his lips. Jason feels a surge of sparks run up his spine, exactly like the day Tim kissed him for the first time.

 _This is wrong, this is wrong,_ he keeps repeating in his head, but Tim swipes his tongue on Jason’s bottom lip and he moans instead of shoving him away. Tim pushes, and Jason lets himself be pushed, stumbling backwards onto the back of the couch.

“Stay with me.” Tim’s hot breath spills over Jason’s cheeks when he pulls away. His fingers grip tight around Jason’s waist when he doesn’t answer. “Stay,” he says, steady, slowly, forcing the word out, demanding for it to be heeded.

 _Stay_.

Tim’s lips are on his again, desperate and wet, sliding and hot, and every few seconds _stay_ slips off his tongue and onto Jason’s, repeating over and over like a mantra, until that word is all he can think of, until he no longer tastes Tim’s tears in his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers.

“Don’t be.” Tim’s arms slide around him, pulling him closer, until their bodies are almost melded together. “I love you. There can’t be anything wrong with that?”

Jason’s breath hitches. He is blind, that’s the only way to explain how he hasn’t seen it until now. It shows plain as day on Tim’s face. The realisation dawns on him like the sun coming up to greet him through the blinds in the morning. It’s written loud and clear in the softness of his lopsided smile, in the tremble of his lips, in how fucking tight he’s holding onto Jason. Tim _loves_ him.

He gently takes Tim’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing against his soft, pale cheeks, across his wet, pink lips. Piercing eyes stare up at him, expectation and hope wrapped up in blue. Jason is terrified.

“I have no idea how to give you what you want.”

Tim smiles, watery eyes crinkling, shaking his head. “You’ve been giving me what I want the past few months.”

Jason frowns. “What?”

Tim laughs. “Like this,” he says, resting his palm against the side of Jason’s face. “Like this.” His fingers creep around to his navel, and they begin trailing along the exposed skin there lightly. Jason’s skin lights on fire. “You’ve been touching me like that forever. I was blind too. I didn’t see.”

Jason tucks Tim’s hair behind his ear. “I like touching you.”

Tim nods. “You were lying. You were lying this whole time.”

Jason recoils. “About what?”

“You _do_ find me attractive. You have feelings for me.” A cringe falls over Tim’s face. “But if you’re getting some kind of complex because you still think this is a sibling relationship…”

Jason looks away, mumbles, “M’not.”

“Are you still gonna lie? Are you gonna say you’re not attracted to me?” Tim’s hands shift lower down Jason’s back.

Jason elects not to say anything. The hitch of his breath should be answer enough. “What do you want?” he asks. He wipes the wetness away from under Tim’s eyes. Tim leans into the touch, closing them. He feels so small in Jason’s arms.

“I just want you to stay,” he says quietly. “Is that alright?”

“This _is_ my apartment, you know.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” he says, brushing his thumb across Tim’s cheek again when he pulls away from Jason’s embrace.

Tim leans into the touch, following Jason’s thumb with his mouth, lips parting when they touch the knuckle. It’s almost funny, watching Tim respond to his touch like this. For so long he’d wondered why Tim looked so tense whenever Jason touched him, why he seemed to still whenever Jason came too close. A part of him thought he still scared Tim, still came off as large and imposing. But now, watching Tim press a kiss to the back of his hand, he realises how wrong he was. All those times, Tim was just trying to hold himself back.

“Good.” Tim nods his head, then starts fiddling with his fingers, like he isn’t entirely sure what to do now that he has Jason. “You wanna sleep?”

Jason smiles. “Tired?”

Tim nods. “Exhausted.”

Jason takes Tim’s hand in his and leads him upstairs. “I’m sorry.”

He feels Tim tense up, but he doesn’t say anything more. What else is there to say? He lets Jason lead him to his room, where he starts stripping down right away without warning. Jason turns away and starts doing the same. He heads to his wardrobe, putting on his pyjamas, and is about to ask if Tim wants any when he turns around and sees Tim already lying on his bed, under the covers, looking at him expectantly.

“You want me to sleep here?” he asks, which is maybe a stupid question considering the talk they just had.

It is indeed a stupid question, as Tim doesn’t even bother gracing him with a reply. He turns on his side, and Jason is met with an eyeful of his back, all milky skin and smooth muscle. A few seconds pass, his breathing slows, and Jason knows he’s asleep. He is completely knocked out, probably emotionally drained from the night and from the many lonely weeks Jason made him suffer through.

Jason heaves a great sigh, eventually climbing onto the bed and laying down beside Tim, close but not touching, in case Tim changes his mind about him. He immediately falls into a deep sleep.

***

He wakes in the early hours of morning, when there’s barely any light in the room, and the clock next to him reads _4:42AM_. He sleepily blinks his eyes open, scowling a little because Tim keeps moving, adjusting his position, and making restless noises. When he looks, Tim is facing him.

“Tim?” His voice is louder than he meant it to be. Tim stops moving immediately, meeting his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, and even in the pitch black, Jason thinks he can make out Tim’s blush. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Really?” He waits for an answer, but Tim seems reluctant to say anything. Impatiently, he hisses, “If nothing’s wrong, go back to sleep,” and turns away from him, shutting his eyes.

“Jason,” he hears. “Jay.”

“ _What?_ ”

He feels Tim press up against him from behind, and Tim’s right arm comes over his middle, holding him. Fingers splay over his abdomen, and the warmth reaches his skin even through his clothes. “Is this okay?” he asks.

He grunts.

He feels Tim adjust himself once more, hearing him breathing close to his ear. Tim presses his lips once against the skin there. “Is this okay?”

Jason hopes he doesn’t feel the shivers wracking his body. “Ticklish,” he says.

Tim licks the shell of his ear; Jason’s eyes widen and he moves away out of instinct, but in the process, feels something suspicious poke against his thigh. He freezes.

Tim feels him tense up and pulls away immediately. “Jason?”

Jason can barely believe this. Tim was moving around so much because he’s _horny_. Yet he can’t even directly _say_ this to Jason, instead he has to get the message out there by nudging his dick against Jason’s leg. It all feels like some weird dream he has yet to wake up from. “What are you doing?”

Tim sits up. Jason sees his face out of the corner of his eye. He looks panicked. “I’m sorry, I just thought this would be okay. I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry.”

“I meant,” Jason says slowly, aiming to put down all misconceptions before they can get out of hand, “I didn’t think you’d want to do this _now_.” He looks over his shoulder to glare at him. “Tim, I just woke up.”

Tim at least has the decency to look regretful. “I’m sorry.”

Jason sighs. “That wasn’t a no.”

Tim’s expression turns to one of surprise, then his frown gradually turns into a grin when he fully comprehends what Jason has said. A sort of feral look crosses his face, then he’s on top of Jason, kissing him. Jason feels the hardness in his pants, and Tim has no shame in pressing it against Jason’s crotch. “Finally,” he breathes. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about this. About you.”

“I can see that.” He tries to sound as unaffected as possible, but really, he’s kind of flattered at that admission. But he’s also a little amused—the thought of Tim being kept up all night by his boner is so ridiculous, it sounds like a story he’d tell Dick to embarrass their little br—

He shuts down the thought instantly.

“I want you,” Tim says, voice all breathy and low, and when he _rolls_ against Jason, he can believe it. “What do _you_ want?”

“I want what you want,” he answers, because he isn’t really sure what he wants. He wants a lot of things, but listing them off isn’t really productive for anyone.

Tim sighs, stopping. “ _Talk_ , Jay. Tell me if this isn’t okay.”

Jason tilts his head back and takes a deep breath. He thinks about Tim leaving right now, leaving Jason high and dry like Jason did to him, and he thinks he’d deserve it anyway. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave, but you don’t have to feel obliged to—”

“No, I don’t feel obliged. I do… I really do want to…” He trails off, his cheeks warming up. Maybe it’s because his emotions are going haywire, maybe it’s because Tim’s pressed up against him in all the right places. Whatever it is, Jason _wants_ , and he definitely does not feel obliged to.

“Only if you want to.” Tim licks a stripe up Jason’s jaw, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re blushing,” he says, and Jason is getting whiplash here, because minutes ago _Tim_ was the one who was blushing and now—since when did Tim learn how to act all sexy like that? Jason feels extremely one-upped.

“ _Jesus_ , Timothy. It’s a little hard to think when you’re all pressed up against me like this.” Jason feels like he’s spinning around the room though his feet aren’t even on the floor.

“Don’t think then,” Tim tells him, “Just do.” He thrusts a few times, and Jason breathes hard through his nose as the sensations awaken the nerves in his cock. “You know, you’re kinda cute like this,” Tim teases coyly, looking up through his lashes. “When you look confused,” he elaborates, at Jason’s bewildered face. His cheeks are flushed, and a smile is playing on his lips. Jason warms. He never thought he’d be one for stuff like that, but. Apparently he is. Tim takes Jason’s silence as hesitation though, his smile fading. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want.”

But Tim’s there on his bed, hair tousled out of its usual neat combed style, a small tent in his boxers, and part of Jason is thinking that maybe Tim’s pushing so hard now because he doesn’t want Jason to leave either, and the other part is thinking _fuck it_. So he leans forward and kisses Tim softly, just a brief press of his lips against Tim’s because he’s scared to do anything more. Tim—in his experience—is fragile. And Jason’s very good at breaking things. So he reigns himself in, and when Tim’s kisses turn hungry, pressing closer for more, Jason automatically pulls back.

Tim looks up at him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jason says in a sigh, cradling Tim’s face lightly in his hand.

Tim shakes his head. “You won’t.” And when he leans in again and kisses Jason softly, he whispers, “You won’t.” He starts kissing lower, along Jason’s jaw, on his neck, his chest, and Jason expels a shaky breath out into the air, but this time it isn’t due to the nerves.

“This okay?” Tim asks again, and Jason nods in consent.

“Feels so— _oh_ ,” he gasps, because Tim just moved onto his lap, his legs either side of Jason’s. “Fuck.”

Tim starts gyrating on top of him, and Jason feels himself hardening quickly. He pushes up, searching for more heat and friction, and Tim grins, biting his lip. Tim’s fingers crawl under his shirt, pulling it up to Jason’s neck. Jason watches, mouth open, as Tim leans down and laps up his nipple. He gasps as Tim places his lips around it and _sucks_. He slaps a hand against his headboard, gripping it tightly as Tim’s tongue comes out and flicks the bud. He starts thinking _this’ll work_ because if Tim’s taking the lead then maybe Jason won’t be able to hurt him.

“What do you think about fucking me?” he asks, a little breathlessly.

Tim pulls back with a surprised look on his face. “I think that’s a very good idea,” he answers. “You’re gonna have to lead me through it though, I’ve never done anything with a guy. Which is kinda disappointing, I wanted to impress you,” Tim says ruefully, switching over to the other nipple and breathing on it. “Come to think of it, I haven’t had sex in like a year.” He sucks on that nipple too, and Jason runs his hand lightly through Tim’s hair. Experimentally, he tugs a little, watching Tim’s reaction. Tim breathes a little harder against his chest and fucking _bites_ down.

Jason cries out.

Tim lets up immediately. “Sorry, sorry!” he says. He gives his nipple a little lick in apology.

Jason can’t help the burst of laughter that escapes. “You’re wild.”

Tim just hums. He rests his hands on Jason’s legs. “Can I…?” he asks. Jason nods, and Tim’s fingers slip under the band of his pants and pull, revealing Jason’s half-hard cock. Tim pauses, openly staring. Jason smirks, wants to say, _Impressive, isn’t it?_ but Tim says, “Thought you were wearing underwear.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “What about you?”

Tim looks down at himself as if suddenly remembering that he is still dressed. He slips off his boxers, throwing them onto the floor. He smiles a little sheepishly at Jason, and Jason grins crookedly back.

“You’re cute,” Jason says, because he _is_ , always has been.

“Is that it?” Tim asks doubtfully.

Jason frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Tim nips at his hipbone. “Don’t you think I’m sexy?” He wraps his fingers loosely around Jason’s cock. He moves further down the bed and starts up a slow stroke, licking around the head. Jason lets out a low moan, feeling himself growing harder. Then Tim opens his mouth wide and slides down, then pulls off with a _pop_ , a string of saliva connecting his wet, pink lips to Jason’s head. He looks up, meets Jason’s eye, and fucking _smirks_.

“Fuck. Yeah,” Jason whispers, then gasps. Tim’s sliding down again, and Jason’s putting his hand into Tim’s hair, twisting the dark locks around his fingers. Tim pulls away again suddenly, grabbing Jason’s pants and pulling them down until they’re completely off. Then he reaches a hand under Jason’s thighs, urging him to spread his legs. Jason does so, and suddenly there’s a finger at his hole. “Oh, god.” Jason drops his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Is this okay?” Tim asks, before putting his mouth on him again. He circles Jason’s rim, but doesn’t press in.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Can I rim you?” Tim says, and Jason’s brain short-circuits.

“Yes,” he breathes.

Tim smiles, and it’s warm and dirty at the same time. “Take off your shirt first.” Tim sits back on his knees as Jason assents, leaning up off the bed so he can get the last item of clothing off. He can feel Tim’s eyes all over his body, and though he’s flushing already he swears he can feel his cheeks warm even more as Tim’s eyes linger over his reddened pecs. Jason’s a bundle of nerves right now, but when Tim smiles at him gently and asks, “Is this okay?” he feels like yeah, it is okay. He pushes Jason’s thighs up towards his chest, but Jason isn’t that flexible, and has trouble holding them up himself. Tim hums thoughtfully. “I think… maybe we should do this the other way.”

“On my knees?” Jason asks.

“Yeah. Not that I don’t love your face or anything.” He guides Jason onto his knees, pushing apart Jason’s thighs with his hands. “Put your hands on the headboard and… hang on,” Tim whispers into his ear, nipping his earlobe lightly before situating himself behind Jason.

Jason feels Tim run a finger over his hole again, then suddenly Tim’s mouth is on his ass, mouthing at his cheek. He waits in anticipation for the feel of his tongue against his hole, but when it comes he’s still unprepared, the shock rocking up his spine as he feels the wetness at his entrance, teasing, not pushing in yet. Then Tim’s pushing in, and Jason’s arching his back against the feel.

“Be good for me,” Tim says, voice low and rough, hand pushing him back in place, and Jason shudders.

“Jesus Christ. For a guy who hasn’t done it with a dude, you sure know a lot about rimming.”

Tim huffs a laugh. “Porn is a thing, you know…” he mutters. He bites lightly on Jason’s ass.

“Fuck me,” Jason breathes.

Tim stills behind him. “Now?”

Jason doesn’t have to think. “Yes. Yes, now.”

Tim places a light peck on his ass that makes Jason shake with laughter and lust and nerves. “Do you have—?” He hears Tim fumbling around in the bedside drawer. “Never mind, I found them.” Tim pulls out the lube and a condom. He comes back and gives Jason a light smack on the ass, but it gives Jason a jolt anyway, his dick twitching up excitedly. It doesn’t escape Tim’s notice though, and he gives another light laugh. “Another kink to add to the list?”

Jason snorts. “A kink list? For me? What do you have so far?”

“One is nipple play, another is telling you what to do, and the last is smacking.”

Jason laughs, though he is impressed by how intuitive Tim is to his tastes. “We’ll explore those next time.”

Tim stills behind him. “There’ll be a next time?” he asks, sounding hopeful.

“Of course,” Jason says, because what the hell did Tim think was happening here? “I don’t let just anyone fuck me.”

“You’ve said something like that before.”

“Have I?” Jason asks.

“Yeah,” Tim whispers, and Jason wonders what he’s thinking. He doesn’t spend much time wondering though, because there’s a slick finger at his entrance, pushing in. It stills before Tim pulls it out slightly and pushes in again.

“Yeah,” Jason says in an exhale. “Give me another finger.”

Tim assents, sliding another finger in, but then he’s crooking it a certain way and—

“F—fuck!” Jason gasps, pushing his ass back against Tim’s fingers. “This can’t be your first time with a guy.”

Tim licks a stripe up Jason’s cheek. “What can I say? Got all A’s in human anatomy.”

Jason huffs out a laugh. Tim spends a while stretching him out, with some direction from Jason, but soon Jason finds that he can’t wait any longer. “Tim,” he says impatiently, thrusting himself down on Tim’s fingers.

“Alright, alright, I get it. Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Tim asks, sliding his fingers out, and Jason sits up and turns to look at him. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and his lips are still so fucking pink and wet. He looks absolutely debauched. Jason answers his question by pressing a kiss to his lips. Tim smiles at him, looking goofy and dazed. “Your kisses are so sweet.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” He picks up the condom from the side of the bed and rips it open. Jason’s heart rate doubles as he slides it over Tim’s cock. He gives him a few strokes, watching it fill, curving up, and Jason is hit with the urge to put it in his mouth. Tim is grinning, but his eyes go half-lidded when Jason bends down and goes for a little indulgent suck.

“ _Jay_ —” he chokes out.

“Come on then,” Jason says cheekily, twisting onto his front again, spreading his knees apart, crossing his arms on the pillow and laying his head on top. He looks back just in time to see Tim’s expression as he brings his hands up to run up Jason’s thighs. “Go slow,” he tells Tim as he guides his cock towards Jason’s opening. Jason’s head falls back onto his arms as he moans, feeling Tim slide inside him.

“Fuck— _Jason_ —” he gasps as he gradually pushes all the way in and stills.

Jason feels so full, and his nerves are on fire, and it’s almost too much, but Tim’s hands are petting him lightly, calming him, cooling when everything else is burning.

“You alright? M’gonna move, okay?” Tim says, and Jason nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak. Tim’s hands go tight around his waist, and he pulls out and thrusts in, and _oh fuck_.

“Faster,” Jason orders, and Tim listens, speeding up his thrusts. His mouth runs, it always does when he’s overwhelmed, and he’s pretty sure he makes some embarrassing noises he’d rather not be reminded of again later.

Tim doesn’t make as much noise, but Jason hears his breaths coming hard and fast, the sounds of his thighs slapping against Jason’s cheeks, the dirty wet squelch of his dick in Jason’s ass. Suddenly, there’s a particularly hard thrust that thumps the headboard against the wall and punches the breath out of Jason’s lungs. “ _Fuck_ , Timmy.”

Tim moans, pressing a kiss to Jason’s back. Jason rolls back against Tim, wanting him closer, deeper. Tim thrusts back harder, and they meet each other with loud, hard smacks.

“You’re so good, Jason. You’re so _good_ ,” Tim gasps, breath hot against Jason’s neck, panting raggedly as he pounds into Jason.

Jason whimpers, squeezing tight around Tim’s cock.

“You like that?” Tim says, as he proceeds to whisper sweet nothings in Jason’s ear, leaving him trembling, hissing _yes, yes, yes_. Then Tim’s hand reaches around and wraps around his cock, and he’s suddenly set on fire, his nerves lighting up, shock firing throughout his body, and he’s coming, shouting something unintelligible as stars burst behind his eyes.

Tim is panting his name now— _Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason_ —like a prayer, over and over again, until it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore. He barely registers Tim coming inside him, hands clenched around Jason’s waist so tight he’s sure it’ll leave bruises.

Jason falls forward onto the bed, gasping for breath. Tim falls on top of him.

“Fuck,” Jason whines, “you made me come on my favourite blanket.”

Tim laughs, tickling his skin. “I would say sorry but I don’t regret it.”

Jason pushes himself up, and Tim gets the hint, getting off and moving to the side. Jason falls onto his side, and looks at him. “I don’t regret it either,” Jason says, and means it, because he doesn’t think he’s felt this warm and whole after sex before. Tim grins at him as he slips his condom off, ties it off and throws it to the corner of the room, ignoring Jason’s disapproving grunt. Jason takes a few tissues from the bedside table beside him and cleans himself off half-heartedly, throwing the used tissue bunch onto the floor afterwards.

Tim shifts closer and curls up against Jason’s chest. He makes a little squeak as Jason wraps an arm around him and squeezes him. Then he closes his eyes and rests his head on Jason’s chest.

Jason stares, and is suddenly overcome with a realisation. “Tim, I…”

Tim looks up at him, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. “Yeah?”

“I think I love you.”

Tim snorts.

“Hey, I just told you something really important,” Jason protests.

Tim’s face softens, and his lips twist into that lopsided smile again. “I know,” he says, and he presses a soft kiss against Jason’s cheek, and the touch sears Jason’s skin. “Who knew sex would get you to realise that you love me?”

Jason pouts. “I don’t think it was the sex that made me realise.”

“Really?” Tim lifts an unimpressed brow. “You’re saying that after you said ‘I love you’ in the haze of our post-sex glow?”

“Okay, well… I dunno, actions speak louder than words?”

Tim laughs, throwing his leg over Jason’s thigh. “You think we should stop with the talking? Do more sexing?”

Jason flushes. “I don’t think we should stop talking. I like talking to you.”

Jason’s sure Tim’s going to tease him about being sappy again, but Tim looks at him instead, expression open and free. “I like talking to you, too.”

“Good to know after half a year.”

Tim hums happily. “Jason, you… you have no idea how much this means to me.”

He watches Tim burrow into his chest again, a smile on his lips, and when his heart swells, Jason’s sure it’s happiness. He pulls Tim closer and smiles into his hair. “I think I might have some idea.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a super long time and I _could_ say I’m sorry, but take this chapter instead.

There’s a moment where Tim thinks maybe he’s dreaming. The sun is muted behind the blinds, the apartment is quiet, and Tim’s thinking _it was all a dream._

But then Jason snores behind him, and the arm wrapped around his middle and the warmth pressed against his back hit Tim with the realisation that this is all very, very real. Tim doesn’t move for a very long time, instead letting himself appreciate the puffs of hot breath on his neck.

His fingers suddenly itch for his camera. Just to capture the moment, keep this one single perfect moment forever embedded in a frame, but Jason’s stirring now and Tim only curses the passage of time for a second before he’s turning around to look at him.

“Hey,” Jason says, voice rough with sleep, his eyes still half-shut. He’s smiling.

“Hey,” Tim says.

“Hello.” Jason nuzzles into the top of Tim’s head.

Tim bites his lip to prevent his smile from getting any wider.

Jason looks down at him, a soft, fond look, and it’s the same look he’s been getting for months, ever since he picked Tim out of the rubble and brought him back to his safe house. Tim can’t believe he was ever unsure of Jason’s feelings.

“I love you,” Jason says.

A burst of warmth erupts in Tim’s chest. “Say it again,” he says.

He feels Jason smile against his hair. “I love you.”

“Again.”

“I’ll start charging, Timbers.”

Tim huffs a laugh. He starts wiggling out from under Jason’s arm, aiming to get some breakfast ready, but a thigh comes around his legs, and the arm around his middle is joined by another, and Tim is effectively trapped in an octopus’ grip.

“Are you always this cuddly?”

Jason hums. “I’ve always been cuddly.”

“Are you saying you’ve been cuddly with me this whole time and I’ve just been ignoring it?”

“Maybe I have,” Jason says, waggling his thick brows. “Maybe we both ignored it.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Let me make food, Jay.”

“Don’t leave yet,” Jason whispers into his ear.

Tim shivers. “Jay…” He’s so tempted to stay in bed and expand a little more upon last night’s events, but his empty stomach wants otherwise. “I’m hungry.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Jason says suddenly, letting Tim go and sliding out of bed. “Just relax there, Timbo.”

Tim sinks his head down into the pillow as he watches Jason pull on his sweatpants and stumble out the door, his chest filling and overflowing with warmth. When he’s sure Jason isn’t there to look, Tim grins and bites into the pillow.

God, this… this is everything Tim could have wished for. Jason… Jason _loving_ him. Being with him. Being _his_. He can barely string a coherent thought together, he’s so—Tim huffs out an embarrassed laugh—so _in love_. There’s just no other way to describe it. He could probably write songs about the way Jason’s eyes turn the most dazzling shade of ocean blue in the morning sunlight, the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way his lips taste, the way his _skin_ tastes—but there aren’t enough words to fully encapsulate just what he _feels_.

Nothing will ever be able to encapsulate what he feels, but there’s nothing stopping him from enjoying every single moment of it.

However, with highs come lows, and as days go by, Tim starts worrying that he pushed too hard, too quickly. He studies Jason’s smiles for even the tiniest indication that something’s wrong. But either Jason’s good at hiding it, or there’s nothing wrong at all, because Jason keeps sighing into Tim’s kisses, and throwing himself into hugs, and wrapping himself around Tim when they sleep. But Tim can’t help but be concerned anyway.

They’re sitting at the table eating breakfast when Tim tries bringing it up.

“How are you feeling?” Tim says, and immediately wants to shoot himself in the foot.

“Um. Good?”

Tim nods, tongue flicking out to catch the syrup dripping down his lip. Jason’s gaze is drawn straight to the movement.

“What about you?” he asks.

Tim snorts. “I’m okay.” He bites his lip, just to test it, and Jason’s eyes flick down to his mouth and back up to his eyes again. “God, you’re not subtle at all.”

Jason smiles, albeit a little sheepishly. “Up until a week ago I didn’t even know this was on the table.”

“So now you’re suddenly okay with it?”

“I guess?” Jason narrows his eyes. “Are you insecure?”

“ _Concerned_ ,” Tim corrects.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Well, you shouldn’t be.”

“Right.”

Jason scowls, collecting his and Tim’s bowls and heading to the sink.

“Jason.”

Jason turns the faucet on and starts scrubbing.

“Jason,” Tim tries again, standing and coming around the table to put a hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“If you can’t trust me at all with my own feelings, how can you trust me with this? I feel what I feel. I don’t get why you think you _coerced_ me into this.”

“Jay,” Tim says gently, turning Jason’s face towards him with his hand against his cheek. “I trust you. I trust you to tell me the truth.”

“You can trust me.” Jason rests his face against Tim’s hand for a second, his eyes closing. Then he opens his eyes and smirks. “You can trust that I’m gonna let you shower with me again if you let me finish washing the dishes.”

Tim shrieks as Jason splashes water in his face, and he gives Jason the finger before he sulks away and goes for his morning run.

When he comes back, sweaty and high on adrenaline, Jason makes good on his promise. He picks Tim up and throws him over his shoulder, carrying him all the way to the bathroom.

Once they’re inside, Jason gets to washing Tim’s hair, humming a song that Tim’s pretty sure he’s heard on the Top 40. He lets himself be pampered for a few minutes, but Jason’s hands all over his body gets him all _riled up_ , so he turns around, pushes Jason against the shower wall, and blows him till he’s begging for more. When he picks Tim up and slips inside, Tim thinks _yeah, I think we might be good_.

***

A little while later, when Tim wakes up from his post-bang recovery nap—as Jason likes to call it—and walks into the kitchen, Jason is frying some bacon and eggs. The familiarity of it makes Tim think that they could spend the rest of their lives like this.

He gives himself a mental slap before he can think any more on that.

Jason looks up and snorts. “My shirt? Really?”

Tim looks down, sees the hem grazing his thighs. “Not the first time I’ve worn your clothes.”

“The last time you wore one of my shirts I think it actually fit better.”

It’s teasing, but the real tone of concern in his voice doesn’t escape Tim’s notice. “Guess you’ll have to start feeding me more again.” He raises a brow. “We just ate. Bacon and eggs?”

“That was hours ago,” Jason says, pressing a kiss to the top of Tim’s head as he walks past and heaps the food onto Tim’s plate. “And it’s protein. You need it.”

“No need to mother me.”

“Major need, Timmy. Your ass is so damn skinny.”

Tim clutches his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt.”

“Your ass is wonderful, honey,” Jason says mock-placatingly, “but you need to eat.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he forks a rasher of bacon into his mouth. “Think we need a little food variety. There is such a thing as cholesterol, you know.”

Jason shoots a glare at him. “I always make different meals.”

“Yeah, but you always cook _bacon_.”

Jason sighs, turning off the stove. “I’ll head to the shops today. Grab some Spam.” He slides into his chair, smirking when Tim groans. “If you don’t like it, you should learn how to cook.”

“I know how to cook,” Tim replies indignantly.

“Everyone says they know how to cook. Then it turns out they cook pasta the wrong way.”

Tim furrows his brows. “What?”

“Exactly.”

Tim ignores the smug look on Jason’s face, shaking his head as he goes back to his food. Maybe he shouldn’t complain. Jason does know how to make every meal delicious, and what’s better than a six-foot crime-fighting vigilante who knows how to cook? Telling him that would only encourage him though, and Tim’s already tired of dealing with his smart ass. Halfway through his plate, he feels Jason’s socked toes rub against his foot. Tim assumes it was an accident, but then Jason does it again, a smirk playing on his lips and, oh God, they’re playing _footsies_. Unfortunately he doesn’t conceal the surprised expression on his face in time because he hears Jason snickering opposite him.

“Got a nice blush going on there,” Jason teases, his toes running up Tim’s ankle.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Jason grins brightly at him and opens his mouth to reply, but his phone suddenly starts ringing from upstairs. He sighs as he gets up. “Guess we’ll finish our game later.”

Tim shovels a bit of bacon into his mouth and mumbles, “Don’t count on it.” He hears Jason’s padded footsteps make their way upstairs, followed by the click of a door. His muffled voice comes out a few moments later, sounding vaguely angry. If Tim had to guess, it would probably be Bruce on the other end of the line. No one else could get Jason that riled up. He elects to finish his food instead of running upstairs and grabbing the phone though. He trusts that Jason can handle it.

Once he’s done, he heads to the sink to wash up. He hears Jason’s heavy footfall coming down the stairs slowly, then into the room. He feels him come up behind, wrapping his arms around Tim’s waist.

“B?” Tim asks.

Jason sighs heavily against Tim’s hair. “B. Told us to head to the East End. A ‘suspicious’ shipment just arrived at the docks.”

Tim frowns. “It sounded like you were arguing.”

Jason makes a noncommittal sound.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah,” Jason says, sliding his hands under Tim’s shirt. “I’d rather do this.”

Tim jerks, feeling ticklish. “ _Jay_ ,” he whines, “we _just_ did it in the shower.”

“Did what?” Jason teases, but he pulls his hands out of Tim’s shirt and wraps them around his waist again. “Use your _words_ , Timothy, don’t be shy.”

“ _Jason_.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Jason replies in the same tone. “You know I was just…” His hands come up higher, pressing against Tim’s ribs. He stills. “Fuck, Tim,” he says, so quietly Tim barely hears it.

Tim stops washing, taken aback by the sudden change in Jason’s tone. “What?”

“You really stopped eating.”

“I… didn’t deal with it well.” He pushes Jason’s hands down, away from his ribs. “It wasn’t your fault,” he adds, as it feels like Jason has turned to stone behind him. There are a million things that go unsaid, but Tim knows that they’ve had this argument a dozen times before. “Stop it. Stop blaming yourself.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue, but Tim is still left with a feeling of unease that doesn’t go away the whole day.

***

They set up a lookout on top of the Robert H. Kane Memorial Bridge that night, but there’s something off between them. Jason is quieter than usual, not cracking a single lame joke—not making any conversation at all. Tim doesn’t try to force any, he simply keeps his binoculars trained on the bridge.

Hours into the night, with not a single word said between the two, Jason straightens up and announces, “There.”

Tim looks down at the white truck following behind two black cars with tinted windows and knows they’ve got their target. Jason aims his tracking gun at the truck and shoots a tracking device onto it as it passes below them.

“Stay here,” Jason says, folding up his equipment. “This could be a decoy. There may be another truck and I need you to track it.”

Tim wants to ask if the next target will be as obvious as the first but Jason’s already running across the metal beams, following the truck across the bridge.

Damn it.

Tim watches as Jason shoots a line, swinging from the bridge over to the rooftops. He issues him a silent good luck.

The second truck comes an hour later, followed closely by a third, followed by a single SUV. Tim follows them around a few blocks until they crawl to a stop in a side street.

“ _Followed a decoy,_ ” Jason’s voice rumbles over the comms. “ _Any luck on your side? I might head back to the bridge_.”

“I’ve got two trucks and an SUV at Marshall Avenue. Standby.”

The garage door of one of the buildings clangs noisily as it’s pulled open, and Tim watches as they unload a dozen crates from the trucks and pull them into the garage.

“Red,” Tim whispers into his comms, “payload at my location.”

“ _On my way_ ,” Jason buzzes back.

A man in a grey suit comes out of the building and walks up to the SUV. A window is rolled down and the man leans in, exchanging a few pleasantries.

Tim’s Russian is rusty but he’s certain he hears ‘Black Mask’ in the conversation. If these _are_ really Black Mask’s men he’s sure gonna have a ball when he finds out Red Hood was involved in intercepting another one of his weapons shipments.

Tim sees a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and suddenly Jason is squatted down beside him, peering over the ledge at the men below.

“Plan of attack?” Tim asks.

“They’re Black Mask’s goons. They can be rounded up easy,” Jason says cockily.

Tim raises a brow. “How’d you know they’re Black Mask’s?”

“The other guys were wearing masks. And they told me.”

“They told you?” Tim asks, quirking a brow up.

“I _asked politely_.”

“Right.”

The man in the suit suddenly issues a goodbye to the people in the SUV. Jason shoots up as the trucks and SUV start up and leave.

“Tracker?”

“Yes,” Tim says.

“I’m going in. Send their location to Oracle.”

Jason pushes himself over the ledge, going straight down without even so much as a glance back at Tim, and Tim grimaces when he lands hard on a man below. He jumps down after him and heads for the crates inside the garage as Jason incapacitates the men.

“If you _freaks_ touch those crates Black Mask is gonna be on your asses tomorrow,” the man in grey shouts, jumping up from his hiding spot behind the garage door and running towards Tim, reaching for his gun. Tim assumes he’s the leader of this particular operation, if his haughty gait and his unwillingness to stand in the line of fire outside with his men are anything to go by.

Tim reaches around for his bo staff, extending it and whipping it around to hit the gun out of the man’s hand, then flicking it back to hit him squarely in his face.

“How could you call us freaks when you work for a man like Black Mask?” he asks, pulling the groaning man up to a sitting position.

The man spits blood at him, and it lands on Tim’s thigh.

“Fantastic.” He pulls the man’s hands together behind his back and secures them. He then heads for a crate in the corner and pries it open.

“You’re kidding me.”

There are a couple dozen stuffed animals inside. Teddy bears, rabbits, a Pikachu at the top of the pile. He snorts at how arbitrarily they must have thrown these stuffed toys into the crates. He ignores the man’s protests and vulgar insults behind him as he reaches in and starts shoveling them out until a dark green military-style case can be seen peeking out between bunny ears and teddy bear paws. He lifts the cover and his brows go up in surprise.

RPGs.

Tim leans back and flashes a smile back at the suited man. He asks, “Who was your boss planning on giving these to?”

“Not _giving_.”

“Right. What’s he need with twelve crates full of… what, two cases of RPGs?”

“ _Three_. And he’s _selling_ ‘em.”

“ _Amazing_. Oracle,” he says into his comms, “We’ve got two truckloads of RPGs here. ”

 _“RPGs? Yikes. PD’s on route to your location. Nightwing’s dealing with another shipment at the port if you’re interested._ ”

“I’ll ask. Red,” Tim shouts, only to be greeted by the sound of gunfire. “Red,” he tries again, “we’ve gotta go.”

Jason flies by the garage door, tackling a group of men down. He works quickly and silently, and as Tim watches, he can tell by the way Jason moves almost robotically that he’s occupied. He doesn’t take the time to ‘play’ with his prey like he sometimes does, shouting short quips as he flashes his guns around. It’s almost alarming—no, it’s terrifying, he decides, because if those rounds were real, those men would all be dead without so much as a glance from Jason, and Jason himself would remain unscathed. It’s a look into the sort of life he lead _before_ and Tim never wants to see it again.

He’s so wrapped up in being concerned for Jason that he almost doesn’t see another man sneak up behind him with his gun pointed at Tim’s head, but he hears his haggard breathing and is just about to duck—

But Jason’s there in a flash, kicking the gun out of the man’s hand. Tim cringes as he hears a loud _snap_ —the man’s arm breaking under the force of Jason’s kick—and when Jason pushes him, the man falls _hard_ against a crate.

“ _Christ_ , Red,” Tim exclaims, pushing past Jason and rushing to the man’s side. He checks the man’s pulse, and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds that he’s still alive.

He whips his head back to snap at Jason, but he’s already gone.

“Oracle—” Tim starts.

“ _He’s heading back to the bridge. I’ll send you his coordinates_.”

Tim curses under his breath, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He stays to clean up after Jason, even though he’s growing more anxious by the second, and it’s only when he hears the sound of a police siren that he leaves the area.

Oracle keeps him updated on Jason’s location, and it’s a testament to how much Jason trusts him now that he doesn’t turn off his GPS tracker. He finds him a little while later on a rooftop in the central business district, his helmet sitting on the ledge beside him, a cigarette on his lips.

For some reason, the sight infuriates him.

He hisses, “What the _hell_ was that?”

Jason doesn’t turn around. “What?”

Tim huffs disbelievingly at how much of a _child_ Jason can be. “You broke that guy’s arm! You shoved his head against a crate—you nearly _killed_ him!”

Jason snorts as he finally gets to his feet and faces Tim, flicking his cigarette away. Tim can’t see the colour in his eyes, the shadows obscuring his face. “I’ve killed people before.”

And Tim—part of Tim wants to say _what happened to talking these things through_ —but he doesn’t because his feet are off the ground and he’s tackling Jason before he can open his mouth.

Jason shouts in alarm and shoves him off. “What the _fuck_ are you _doing_?” he snarls.

“If you want to _act_ like a killer I might as well just _treat_ you like one!” Tim shouts back, getting on top of Jason and pulling his arm back for a swing.

But trying to wrestle Jason probably isn’t the best decision he’s made. Jason catches his fist before Tim can graze his face, and, with a little struggle, grabs his other arm too. “ _Stop_ ,” he demands, giving Tim a little shake.

Tim lifts his knee up, aiming to dislodge Jason’s hold on him with a push from his leg, but Jason flips them over so that he’s sitting on Tim’s legs and holding his arms down to the roof.

“Tim,” he says softly, and it’s so out of left field that Tim listens. “Red, stop.”

Tim looks up. Jason’s eyes are wide… almost scared… they’re _pleading_ , and Tim’s so confused about _why_ that it takes him a moment longer to notice that his own arms are shaking. He looks up at his hands, enclosed fists shaking with such ferocity he doesn’t believe they’re his, and then at Jason, still and unmoving. Like a rock. He didn’t realise he was so angry. He unclenches his fingers slowly, and takes a minute to slow his erratic breathing, watching his own chest rise and fall.

Jason watches him, and, satisfied that Tim has calmed himself enough, releases his arms. He stays sitting on top of Tim’s legs, and though his weight is shifted to his legs on either side of Tim’s so he isn’t crushing Tim, Tim still feels the _threat_ of 250 pounds worth of gear and muscle hovering over his relatively tiny five foot five frame. Coupled with the piercing stare of Jason’s blue-green eyes, Tim finds himself feeling just a little overwhelmed.

He shuts his eyes and manages to get out a, “I’m sorry.” What was he thinking? No, he wasn’t thinking. If he were thinking he wouldn’t have attacked Jason like that. It was desperation. It was instinct. Because he knows, every part of him knows, that if Jason slips up again—if Jason _kills_ —Bruce isn’t going to let him get away with it. And Tim won’t know what to do with himself if he lets that happen.

“Don’t,” Jason says, and Tim looks up at him in surprise. “It’s me who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have used that much force, I know. I know I almost—almost _killed_ that fucking guy,” he hisses and it doesn’t escape Tim’s notice that Jason doesn’t look very regretful about it at all. “It’s just—fuck. Losing you—I can’t even think about it. I can’t. It’s so fucking unhealthy maybe—how much I—how much I—” He pauses, shutting his eyes, and exhaling shakily. Tim reaches up to hold his face and Jason laughs humorlessly, holding his hand. “And when you stopped eating—doesn’t that mean—are we—are we _codependent_ or something—I mean—”

 _Codependent?_ Tim absolutely despises the word the moment it leaves Jason’s mouth. They’re protective over each other, sure, but that’s _normal_. Especially for people in their line of work. “No. No we’re not,” he decides resolutely.

“It’s so fucking _unhealthy_ —” Jason pushes and Tim feels another jolt of anger.

“No. _No_ , look. You know why I stopped eating? It—it didn’t have anything to do with missing you. I just—I don’t deal well with stress, it’s always been a weakness of mine. It’s part of me. I forget to sleep, brush my teeth—I just forget to take care of myself. Alf always had to remind me back then when I was younger. Then when you came in, you started doing it for me.” He pulls Jason’s hand down, against his heart. “You looked after me, you made me better. It isn’t your fault. It’s just always been a thing I do.”

“But without me—”

“Without you, I do fine.”

Jason’s stare is unphased. “No, you don’t. You just said you forget to _eat_ without me, that’s not _fine_.”

“I don’t—B does the exact same thing.”

“B isn’t exactly the poster boy of stable.”

Tim tries not to take offence to the fact that Jason just called him _unstable_. He fails. “Fine,” he snaps, throwing his hands up, and in the process, shoving Jason’s hand away. “Maybe we aren’t healthy. But we’re vigilantes. We dress up in costumes and go out at night and punch people in the face. How healthy can we be? We all have problems. All of us. Don’t you think it might be better if we don’t go through them alone?”

Jason lowers his head and sighs. His hair falls over his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know?”

“I mean.” Jason worries at his lip. “What if we took a break?”

Tim feels his stomach drop. “A… _break_ ? We _just_ got together.”

“We haven’t been apart for months.”

Tim searches Jason’s eyes, looks for the smallest hint that this is just some terrible joke. He pushes himself up into a sitting position but Jason’s not moving from his spot over Tim’s legs. “You’re kidding,” he says, but Jason doesn’t waver. “ _No_ , Jason,” Tim says urgently, and he’s _not_ panicking—he’s _not_ . “You said you were _fine_ —you said you were _okay_ with this—”

“I _am_ ,” Jason insists, his blue-green eyes capturing Tim’s and grounding him. “I _am_ okay with this, I _love_ you. But we need to prove that we aren’t dependent on each other.”

“To _who?_ ”

“To ourselves.”

“Right.” Tim fights the urge to roll his eyes. “And B calling this morning had nothing to do with it?”

Jason scoffs. “B’s always butting his nose into everything. Doesn’t mean I _want_ to make our business _his_.”

But their business is _already_ his, is the point Jason is getting to. Bruce is always going to be over their shoulders, judging their every move, but it is up to them whether they let him dictate their lives or not. Tim knows what he wants, and what he’s willing to do to have it, but what about Jason? Are they on completely different pages _again?_ “So he doesn’t approve.” He says spitefully, “Are you going to let that stop you? You’ve never let it stop you before.”

Jason levels him with an unimpressed look but he doesn’t appear to be angry. “I didn’t say that. Look, I’m just saying it’s a decision that _we_ make for _ourselves_.”

“So what? You’re just gonna _choose_ to leave me lying here again and disappear?”

Jason’s brows furrow, and his mouth twists into a grimace. “No. No, I’m not gonna do that. I didn’t mean _today_ , I meant… whenever you’re ready.”

Tim shakes his head. “No. This is stupid. What if I’m not ready in a month? What if I’m not ready in a year? What if I’m not ever going to be ready? You’re not… this isn’t ‘cause you wanna go back to Starfire and Arsenal, is it?” Something twists, dark and ugly in the pit of his stomach.

Jason looks confused for a second, then his eyes go wide when he realises what Tim is thinking. “No,” he states quickly. “I’m not gonna say I don’t miss working with them, ‘cause I do, but. I’m with you. I wouldn’t—I would never—”

“Okay,” Tim breathes. “Okay.”

“Don’t. Don’t cry, okay?” Jason says, brushing Tim’s cheeks softly with his gloved fingers. “I’m not—I won’t leave you if—”

“Hood,” Batman’s low voice cuts into their conversation, but with the way Jason jumps it might as well have been a shout.

“ _Jesus_ , B, warn a guy—” Jason scrambles to get off of Tim, because the way they’re positioned now—Jason basically seated on Tim’s _lap_ —isn’t about to win them any favours.

Batman’s figure looms over them both, dark and imposing as his cape swings in the breeze. “You wouldn’t need any warning if your attention wasn’t on… other things.”

Jason scowls, leaning up against the ledge as Tim stands, crossing his arms. “It’s not like we were—fuck’s sake, never mind.”

“This… thing between you. Do _not_ let it interfere with the mission. You’re getting clumsy, distracted, _both_ of you. Get it together. I am not willing to excuse another incident like tonight’s again.” Bruce’s voice doesn’t betray his emotions, and Tim can only see the permanent frown under his cowl. Tim can’t decide if he’s angry or disappointed, or whether he’d just rather not have anything to do with this at all.

“It’s not _going_ to happen again,” Tim states firmly. “We’ve worked together before just fine without any incidents—tonight’s was just a mistake.”

Bruce tilts his head to look at him. “You weren’t _together_ before.”

Tim sighs impatiently. “There’s no difference.”

“Being in a relationship makes all the difference. You’re both young—”

“Oh god.”

“—and inexperienced—”

“ _Stop_.”

“—but this is your choice and I can’t make you change your minds. I’m not saying I approve… especially since you’re both my sons.” Bruce pauses here and Tim can’t help the feeling of guilt churning around in his gut. “However, you are both adults and I trust you to take responsibility for your own decisions.”

“Wait, I get it,” Jason suddenly interjects. “You waited till now to give us the _talk_ because you knew _this_ get-up,” Jason gestures to the cowl, “would spook us the most into listening.”

“I waited until now because you decided to snap a man’s arm tonight,” Bruce corrects him, voice clipped and clearly angry. “You’re only here because of your good behaviour. You know what happens if you mess up.”

Jason’s mouth snaps shut.

“I hope you think about what I’ve said,” Bruce continues, “and remember that… I care about you both. Despite what differences we may have.” Tim turns his head away when he feels Bruce’s eyes on him.

“Aw. Do I feel a hug coming on?” Jason says sardonically, putting his helmet back on.

“If you’re going to give me attitude, do not come running to me if one of you decides to break the other’s heart.” Bruce’s cape swishes as he turns away and shoots a grapple, disappearing into the dark night.

Jason stares after him, standing very still. “Jesus, that’s cold.”

Tim topples onto the ledge next to Jason, exhaling heavily. “Nothing could have prepared me for a shovel talk from B.”

“That wasn’t even a shovel talk. That was like an anti-shovel talk.”

Tim shakes his head. “Whatever it was, I don’t think I can face him again.”

“Well, at least he isn’t completely faithless.”

Tim furrows his brows. “Not completely faithless?”

“Yeah.” Jason shrugs. “Or maybe… disappointed but not surprised.”

“As to be expected of the family fuck-ups.” Tim sighs heavily, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “God, if that’s what he thinks, imagine what the others do.” He still remembers the way Steph’s voice shook over the phone, the way Dick tried desperately to stop him from going back, the way Damian looked at their flirting with _disgust_. And Cass, sweet Cass, looking over the table at him in… pity.

“Red. I know what you’re thinking.”

Tim looks up, stares past the red of Jason’s helmet. He thinks of what Alfred might say, what he might be thinking, right now, as the rest of the family arrive at the cave without Tim or Jason for the hundredth time. If he, too, looked upon Tim with contempt or disgust he wouldn’t know what to do.

“Red,” Jason repeats, brushing a gloved hand against his arm. “We’ll prove them wrong. We’ll do better.”

“Do better,” Tim echoes hollowly.

“We’ll _show_ them. They just… they don’t understand. They haven’t seen us. Together, out of uniform.” _Happy_. Jason shrugs. “What’s that quote? ‘Lead with your heart. The rest will follow.’”

“Sounds like a Hallmark card,” Tim says dismissively. “And I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“Then what about…” Jason’s hand comes up as if to scratch the back of his head, but when he realises he’s wearing his helmet he lets it drop down to his side. “…what I was saying before…”

“The _break_ ,” Tim finishes for him and Jason nods. Tim argues, “You heard him. No heart-breaking. I think a break up’s the last thing we should do.”

Jason makes a protesting sound. “I didn’t mean a break _up_.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I _assumed_.” Something inside him unclenches anyway.

Jason leans away. “Jesus, you think the worst of me. I’m not going to cheat on you with them.”

“It’s not _cheating_ if we’re not together,” Tim corrects.

Jason makes a small angry noise in the back of his throat. “For fuck’s sake, you work _so_ hard to get into my pants, then you go and push me away as soon as you get jealous of something that—”

Heat flares up in his chest. “Oh, _fuck_ you. I’m not the one doing the pushing!”

“I’m not pushing you away!” Jason says loudly, grabbing Tim’s arm. “I’m not. You’re my goddamn… partner. I’m saying we should prove we can function just fine by ourselves.”

“To B?” Tim asks, because he knows Jason doesn’t just want to prove it to himself.

Jason sighs. “Yes. Maybe… I don’t want to get on his bad side again. I want to…”

 _You want to make him proud_. Tim deflates. “I’m sorry.”

Jason shakes his head. “I told you. It doesn’t have to be right now. We should just… He told me, y’know? On the phone today. He said, ‘I’m not sure why you thought this was the way to get back into my good graces.’”

“ _God_.”

Jason laughs but it’s cut short and it’s an ugly sarcastic thing. “Yeah. I don’t know what I expected.”

“But you were already—I thought you and B were…”

Jason looks down at his hands and Tim wishes, not for the first time, that he weren’t wearing his helmet. Especially when he hears what sounds like a sob. “I did too.” The voice that comes out is soft. Broken. It doesn’t sound anything like his Jason but… maybe this is what Jason _is_ underneath it all.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again, at a loss for words.

They still need to contact Oracle for a debriefing, and they still need to follow up on a case at the Cave, and they’re going to have to eventually deal with the family, but—Jason is breaking apart in front of him. He wants to hold him—gather him up in his arms and let him stay there, pressed tight against him, shielded from the world, until he can pick himself up again. But they can’t do it out here.

“Let’s go home,” he decides, for the both of them.

When he leads the way back, Jason doesn’t hesitate to follow.

It ends up being a struggle though, trying to get Jason upstairs to their bedroom. Tim made them stop at one of Jason’s safe houses on the way back to change, and Jason was able to manage _that_ , but the moment they walk through the front door of Jason’s apartment, something inside him just seems to give out and he ends up slumped against the door frame.

“ _Jay_.” Tim rushes to his side, clamping his hands around his arm, and pulling him up.

“M’okay,” Jason mumbles, but Tim sees the reflection of the streetlights on his wet cheeks.

“C’mon, Jay. Don’t lie to me,” he says, but it isn’t meant to be a reproach.

Jason winces anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Tim sighs. He gently leads Jason further into the apartment, shutting the door behind them. He takes Jason’s hand in his and starts leading him up the stairs, but Jason makes these horrible gasping sounds halfway up, and he has to stop. “Jason, Jay, come _on_ ,” Tim pleads, almost desperately because he _is_ desperate. Jason needs, and Tim isn’t entirely sure he knows how to help him.

He puts his arm around Jason’s back, pulling Jason’s arm around to wrap around his own waist, and maybe the contact gives Jason the incentive to move, or maybe Tim’s got enough leverage to pull him, but he is moving, finally, and Tim is able to get him into the bedroom. He undresses Jason, then lays him down in the bed, pulling the covers up over him.

Jason’s done crying by the time Tim climbs into bed beside him after running downstairs to get him a glass of water, but now he’s staring up at the ceiling, face blank, eyes empty. Tim looks at him, the feeling of uselessness weighing down on his body, then gets an idea. He shifts closer, then tries sliding his arm under Jason’s head. “Up, Jay,” he says, and Jason obeys, lifting his head off the bed. Tim gets closer still, then gently brings Jason’s head down to rest on his chest. His fingers come up to stroke through Jason’s hair, and Jason’s breath shudders, trembling against Tim’s chest. Jason turns slightly, so he can get his arms around Tim’s body, and they hold each other like that for a while.

Minutes, hours go past—Tim isn’t really sure—and Jason’s breathing has slowed, enough that Tim thinks he’s sleeping, but when he cranes his neck to look, he sees watery blue, staring at the wall.

“Christ, I’m a fucking baby,” Jason eventually whispers. Tim looks at him, and Jason grimaces, eyes squeezing shut as a few more stray tears spill down his cheek. “What the fuck am I doing, Tim?” He sits up and runs a hand down his face. “Twenty-one and I’m still crying like a fucking baby. Christ.” He laughs emotionlessly.

Tim tries to contain his shock, so unused to seeing Jason like this. “Jay. You’re not a child, everyone feels like this sometimes.”

“But we aren’t like everyone,” Jason points out.

“But we are still _human_ ,” Tim replies. “Bruce is wrong, Jason. You’re so _good_ , but you make mistakes. Of course you do. This—what we have isn’t a mistake though. This feels right—this feels _good_ , don’t you think?” He waits for Jason to whisper a quiet _yeah_. “It might take a little while for everyone to come around, but. We—we have each other, and—and Kory—and Roy—they still love you, don’t they? You always say—and maybe,” Tim’s voice grows shaky the longer he talks, and he can feel the beginnings of panicked sobs wracking his own chest when he remembers how disgusted Bruce sounded when he saw them together, when he realises that he’ll never accept them, not together. Maybe no one from the family ever will, and they’ll truly be outcasted. “Maybe if—if worst comes to worst, Kory, and Roy, and me—we’ll still love you. We’ll still—”

The decision to choose between Jason and the rest of the family never came up in his mind. But now that he thinks about it—now that it’s a possibility that he’ll be forced to, well. There isn't any doubt in his mind about who he’d choose. He thinks of Alfred removing their photographs from the walls of the manor and hiding them away in boxes up in that attic along with old Robin suits, and the tears leave his eyes and suddenly he can’t stop. He feels Jason’s arms around him, holding him together as he takes his turn to fall apart. He clings hard to Jason, and Jason to him, and all Tim can think about is how pathetic they both are.

***

“I was wrong,” Tim whispers, a little while later, when the light outside is coming orange through the curtains and the birds are calling to each other. “Maybe we really do need each other.”

Jason doesn’t look up from where he’s drawing circles on Tim’s wrist. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

“Maybe.” But, no matter what anyone else may think about it, Tim doesn’t feel like it is. He doesn’t feel like it is at all.

***

The next night, when Jason comes to him, eyes very carefully blank, talking about an order from Bruce and a six-month long mission across Latin America, Tim tries very hard not to feel anything.


End file.
